


Jingi

by GoandSeek



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Assassins & Hitmen, Drugs and Firearms, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Human Trafficking, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slow To Update, Tagged Relationships Are Endgame, Tsukishima Kei Being an Asshole, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoandSeek/pseuds/GoandSeek
Summary: jingi (仁義, justice and duty); the yakuza code: a written code of conduct or behavior that by the law of the Yakuza has been followed for the past several hundred years where loyalty and respect are a way of life.»»————- ♡ -————««"There's a kill list going around."Hinata Shoyo. Kageyama Tobio. And Tadashi [redacted].The words bled into the paper startingly dark and looking more like blood than ink.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. exposition

**Author's Note:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I understand that Haikyuu takes place in Japan and, in accordance with the culture and the vibe I wish to present, I will be referring to the crime groups mentioned as being yakuza. However, I would like to define the yakuza groups of this story as being largely fictional, and mostly inaccurate as compared to the real yakuza of Japan. This is not meant to be a mockery. I have done research on yakuza (as much as my little brain would allow) and try to regularly incorporate the appropriate words and ceremonies. Feel free to correct me if you know better, but understand that this is a loose, fictional representation. Thank you and enjoy reading!
> 
> This will be very slow to be updated.

#  **_jingi_ **

_by: goandseek_

###  **chapter one**

HINATA SHOYO WAS NEW. That much was obvious. He had no clue what exactly being a member of the _yakuza_ entailed, but he was ready. He was _excited_. For the first time, in what felt like a lifetime, Hinata had found people for him. They weren’t just shadowy figures in the alleyways anymore, they were _familiar._ They were tangible, enthusiastic, crazy (occasionally a little mean and salty but that was an exception) and Hinata adored them. They weren’t just familiar anymore, they were _family_. 

“Hinata, get your ass off the ground and go find Bokuto-san” 

“Don’t say that word!” 

Hinata scrambled to his feet, shooting a quick look at the blond beanpole towering over him. Tsukishima Kei was the exception to Hinata’s adoration, the nasty look on his face far from a favorite expression of Hinata’s. Begrudgingly, Hinata had to admit that, while Tsukishima was a massive turd, he was a great _saiko-komon._ From what he had been able to make out at their _yakuza_ group’s last meeting, Tsukishima’s role as _saiko-komon_ meant he was the main advisor to the leader of their group: Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuroo was a decent leader, a _kumicho_ in layman's terms; however, his (theoretical) legal advisor, Kozume Kenma, and his head advisor, Tsukishima Kei, seemed to have a stronger hold on the position than he did. 

Hinata liked Kuroo-san and Kozume-san, _but Tsukishima?_

“You’re going to have to get over your weird distaste for ‘vulgar’ language if you want to survive here, Hinata-kun,” Tsukishima sneered at the shorter boy, slipping away when Hinata started to fume. _How pathetic_. Tsukishima wasn’t sure how exactly the midget had advanced so quickly through their clan’s ranks, and he was almost certain it was a mistake. Bokuto-san had been too hasty, a not-uncommon occurrence. 

Hinata forcibly bit his tongue, glaring at Tsukishima’s retreating form with obvious frustration. He _hated_ how smug Tsukishima always acted. Just because Tsukishima out-ranked him didn’t give him the right to treat Hinata like _scum_. Hinata wasn’t scum! He was the opposite of scum! He was… _something_ -not-scum.

After all, it was _Hinata_ who’d jumped quickly through the ranks. It was _Hinata_ who had impressed _kumicho_ Kuroo-san and _wakagashira_ Bokuto Koutarou. It was _Hinata_ who was now _wakagashira-hosa_ , not Stinky-shima. Though Tsukishima still outranked Hinata, it wasn’t as drastic as it had been before. Bokuto-san was the _wakagashira_ , Kuroo-san’s right-hand man, and he could technically outrank Tsukishima in most cases. Since Hinata was now a _wakagashira-hosa_ , one of Bokuto-san’s trusted helpers, he didn’t have to report to everything Meany-shima said anymore. _He was free._

“Psst. Shoyo, c’mon over here”

Hinata looked around wildly, now convinced that he was dreaming. _Oh well._ It had been a nice thought while it lasted. Being promoted to Bokuto-san’s personal group had seemed like a rather far-fetched notion anyway, even for a dream. And now, Hinata was hearing things. _Great_. This was where the nightmarish part of his dream began, of this, Hinata was certain. 

“ _Hey, hey, Shoyo”_

Bokuto’s head appeared from behind a false wall, the plaster sliding back strangely to reveal his owlish blink. He cocked his head to the side, frowning when Hinata pinched his forearm harshly, then grinned. _Not a dream?_

“Coming, Bokuto-san!” 

Bokuto laughed, pulling Hinata into the hidden entrance and sealing the door off behind them. It wasn’t pitch dark, but close enough so that Hinata stayed to his spot, rooted. Futakuchi-san had told him the passageway was riddled with extensive booby-traps, most of which would claim your limbs and then your life. Even if this was a dream, Hinata didn’t fancy getting his legs eaten by a mechanical death monster. 

“Why are you being so slow, Hinata?”

Hinata jumped when he felt Bokuto whisper into his ear creepily. 

“Bokuto-san!” 

Hinata allowed himself a quick second to calm down. Confusingly enough, Bokuto seemed unbothered by the prospect of possible death, his gaze piercing in the dim light. Bokuto-san preferred shorts to pants, like Hinata, and a firm muscle in his calf was flexing and relaxing as he tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. 

“I don’t want to risk setting off any traps,” Hinata explained, arms whirring like a windmill to reenact the scene of his impending demise. 

Bokuto made a weird noise, neck cranking to one side as he quirked his head again. A loose strand of black and white hair dropped in front of his strangely golden eyes, but it was quickly pushed back by the energetic man. 

“Oh,” Bokuto cackled, a firm hand slapping Hinata square in between the shoulder blades good-naturedly. 

“Did Futakuchi tell you that? Don’t believe that liar. We don’t need traps.” 

Bokuto walked away, a broad grin plastered on his face while Hinata floundered behind him. _Lied?! Futakuchi-san had lied?_ Embarrassment was one word Hinata would use to describe how he was feeling. Hungry was another. 

_What?_ Hinata had more important things to worry about.

“Did Kei mention our meeting to you, Shoyo?” 

“Hmm?” Hinata snapped back to reality, flushing when he realized Bokuto had been speaking to him. 

“No, he didn’t”

Hinata didn’t bother hiding his scowl, his and Tsukishima’s rivalry already quite well-known in their clan. Kuroo-gumi, their clan, was renowned for the way it functioned like clockwork. Efficient. Flawless. _Ruthless_. Hinata couldn’t imagine Tsukishima working alongside anyone without giving them a migraine and calling them stupid, but apparently, that treatment was specially reserved for him. Kozume-san liked to ease Hinata’s mind by claiming Tsukishima just took a while to warm up to people, but Hinata didn’t buy it. 

“Of course he didn’t,” Bokuta smiled fondly and Hinata grimaced, irked by how Tsukishima had managed to become invincible. 

“Anyways,” Bokuto recaptured Hinata’s attention, guiding him to a crevice in the wall that signified an exit, “We have a meeting to attend with _kumicho_ Tetsurou” 

“Kuroo-san called another meeting? We just had one last week though?”

Bokuto-san frowned, the smile wiping off his face slowly as the wall-door-thing slid open. The lights were on on the other side, a round table filled with chatter taking up the entirety of the room they were in. 

“He says he got an update from Shiratorizowa”

A frown naturally came onto Hinata’s face, nose scrunched up in concentration as he tried to remember who exactly was in charge of their Shiratorizowa location. _Oh, Ushijima-san_. Hinata had only ever seen the man once and it hadn’t gone too well. Ushijima had taken a strange and instant dislike to Hinata, like Tsukishima had, and was close to demoting him when Bokuto had stepped in with a promotion.

Hinata liked to think he gave off a powerful vibe and that Bokuto had promoted him for that reason, and not because he pitied Hinata’s knack for making the worst people his enemy. 

Skipping next to Bokuto, adding a little extra bounce in his step so he could look just a little taller, Hinata scanned the room for Shiratorizowa’s representative. Ushijima was the _shateigashira_ of Shiratorizowa and oversaw all Kuroo-gumi’s activity there, and that meant he could scarcely leave the Miyagi prefecture. Instead, Ushijima sent out his _shateigashira-hosa_ , an assistant like Hinata was, but instead of assisting the Bokuto-san, this guy helped Ushijima-san. He was another newbie, like Hinata, who had the weirdest bangs Hinata had ever seen. Not one to judge peoples’ bang-choices, Hinata had actually found a friend in the guy. _Where is he?_

“Goshiki!”

Hinata waved timidly to his acquaintance, regretting how loud his voice had come out. A few strangers cast their glares on him, but Bokuto waved them off with a well-timed pat to the top of Hinata’s head. Bokuto always underestimated his own strength, so, to Hinata, it felt like he was being slammed into the ground like a golf tee. 

Thankfully, Goshiki pried Hinata from the spot and dragged him over to where he was sitting next to the rest of Hinata’s fellow _wakagashira-hosa_. There were three of them in total: Futakuchi Kenji, Aone Takanobu, and himself, Hinata Shoyo. Futakuchi-san and Aone-san had scared the crap out of Hinata when he’d first been introduced to them, but they’d been nothing but helpful. Well, Aone-san at least. Futakuchi liked to play little pranks on Hinata sometimes, but they usually backfired when Aone found out. 

Hinata grabbed the seat Goshiki had saved for him, nodding intently as the representative yammered on about some big case he’d cracked all by himself at Shiratorizawa. Kozume Kenma had told him to take the stories lightly, with a pinch of salt he’d said, but Hinata couldn’t imagine Goshiki _not_ being as cool as he said he was. 

_Kozume doesn’t know everything_ , Hinata told himself. 

_Speaking of…_ Kozume-san was seated in his usual spot, wedged in between Tsukishima and Kuroo on a squishy armchair. He was curled into himself, phone tucked and half-hidden by his bangs as they swept down to cover his face. Everyone else in the room was sitting on stiff, wooden chairs around the table, but nobody dared complain to Kuroo about the blatant favoritism. Hinata didn’t mind either, it just made Kozume all the cooler. 

Bokuto was sitting on Kuroo’s right, animatedly talking about something that made them both laugh. Tsukishima didn’t seem to share the sentiment, tcching loudly and filing through the mass of paper in front of him. 

“Do you know what this meeting is about?” Hinata wondered, looking at his companions. Goshiki flushed and shook his head no, while Futakuchi verbalized the fact with a frown.

Aone-san didn’t say anything, stoically looking towards their clan’s leaders with thinly-veiled interest. 

“There’s a kill-list going around,” He finally announced after a few seconds of deliberation.

Aone’s voice was quiet, but it rumbled around the room and filled it slowly. The atmosphere was stifling and Hinata shrunk into his seat when Tsukishima cast a scalding look in his direction. _What?_ Hinata hadn’t even been the one to speak. 

Kuroo exhaled slowly, nodding when the rest of the invited members looked at him curiously after hearing Aone. He looked stressed but hid the deep, dark circles under his eyes with a large, sarcastic-looking smirk. _So cool._ Hinata could never hide his emotions effectively. He’d been told on many occasions that he was an open book, and hiding his emotions just made him look constipated. 

“How did you know?” Tsukishima’s brow knotted together, a nasty look still plastered on his face when he looked over at Aone. 

“Never mind,” He breathed out, “The problem is that that is true.”

A few whispers crowded the silence, dropping back out of hearing when Bokuto cleared his throat. Kuroo looked over at his best friend thankfully, inhaling steeply before tapping Kozume on the shoulder. Kozume unwound himself from his phone languidly, procuring a small remote and clicking on it boredly. 

A small projection was cast against the far wall and Hinata had to crane his neck to see it around his massive seat-neighbor. Aone-san pulled back a bit for him and Hinata smiled gratefully before squinting. 

It was a picture of bad quality: heavily blurred and with messy handwriting. It looked like somebody had copied the words down and then taken the picture in a rush. 

“One of our informants sent this to us earlier in the week,” Kozume broke the heavy tension, his voice level and unbetraying of his emotions. 

“There are a few names not from our clan, but a few that are”

Hinata couldn’t make out the names from where he was sitting, but a few heads turned to look at him and he felt his blood run cold. 

“Tetsurou has decided that these individuals will be placed into protective watch,” Tsukishima took over for Kozume-san, his voice a little harsher and angry.

A few mumbles cut him off and he scowled. 

“Listen,” Kuroo finally spoke up, his voice large and booming though it had seemed like he’d whispered. Tsukishima flushed, nodding in thanks before continuing. 

“We will also be contacting the other clan we believe to have members on the list—”

When Tsukishima was interrupted this time, the mumbles had grown in volume. No longer indistinguishable noises, Hinata shrank further into his seat when the already-tense atmosphere doubled at the mention of aiding another clan. 

_Not our job._

A few people hissed. 

_Why should we?_

A little part of Hinata agreed with them. Why did they have to inform the other clan? They should just focus on protecting their own. However, a larger part of Hinata wanted to tell the faceless voices to shut up and listen to their leaders. The _yakuza_ code (which most modern _yakuza_ ignored, but Kuroo-gumi faithfully followed) detailed aiding whoever needed help: it just so happened that another _yakuza_ clan needed their help. 

“What clan?” Hinata spoke up before he could think, a few dozen mean-looking people looking at him like he was… _scum_. 

_Am I really scum?_

Hinata started to doubt his self-worth, slowly melting under the pressure of what seemed like hundreds of deadly stares. The self-doubt lasted a full minute before Hinata’s ego self-inflated. His mother had always told him to stay true to his morals and to speak his mind (unless it was to ask a lady’s age in which case he should sit and shut up). Bokuto-san sent him a proud look from where he sat next to Kuroo, who also looked considerably proud. 

Hinata grinned, a smile faltering when Tsukishima tcched loudly. 

“You don’t need to k—”

“—Yamaguchi-kai,” Kozume Kenma cut him off with his own private smile directed at Hinata. 

“Good question, Shoyo,” Kozume continued, ignoring the startling, angry blush on Tsukishima’s face. Though Kozume didn’t technically hold an official position in their clan, he outranked Tsukishima solely based on his connection with _kumicho_ Kuroo. Normally, the two could devise plans that melded together flawlessly, but, on the occasion that Kozume invoked his privilege, one could see Tsukishima’s pride ebb out of him like an old balloon. 

“Yamaguchi-kai has proven their worth as an admirable _yakuza_ clan,” Kuroo finally stepped in, silencing the hushed debate that had been circling the room’s perimeter, “We will not only be informing them of the kill-list, but we will be offering them direct protection if they choose to accept as their clan lacks resources, which we have access to. In return, we will request their compliance on neutral turf.”

That settled the argumentative people, their tongues tasting like blood as they bit back unnecessary retorts. This wasn’t a matter they had say in, this meeting was simply to inform them of a fact. 

“Who made the kill-list?” Hinata wondered out-loud again, beaming when Kuroo-san and Bokuto-san grinned at him from across the table.

_I’m on a roll! Take that Meanie-shima!_

“We don’t know,” Tsukishima answered sullenly, “Our informant was unable to relay that information to us. Their position is compromised and we hope to find out whenever it is safe for them to communicate”

Hinata nodded feverishly, feeling every bit as important as Tsukishima had claimed him to not be. 

“I believe the Shiratorizowa _shateigashira-hosa_ has an update on contact with Yamaguchi-kai for us,” Kozume murmured, gaze shifting to a shaking Goshiki next to Hinata.

Hinata patted Goshiki’s shoulder, still high off the minute praise he’d received. 

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” He whispered not-too quietly, sending Goshiki a silent thumbs up when the boy stood up shakily. 

Goshiki took a deep breath, eyes steeling over as he began the report he’d rehearsed the whole train-ride to Tokyo. 

“Ushijima-san has attempted to contact one of Yamaguchi-kai’s _shateigashira_ , but communications have been futile. Unfortunately, the _shateigashira_ seems to be apprehensive about Ushijima-san and has refused further connections,” Goshiki frowned. 

“However, he has agreed to meet with any other member you deem suitable.”

“How big is his ego?” Tsukishima scoffed, annoyed, while Hinata snickered quietly to himself. _The pot calling the kettle black._ However, Hinata could understand the _saiko-komon_ ’s frustration: why was the other man so against meeting Ushijima-san? Sure, he was intimidating and blunt, but he wasn’t cruel or evil.

“Are we talking about Oikawa-san from Aoba-Johsai?” Kuroo mused, an amused look on his face. 

“Yes,” Goshiki nodded firmly. 

“Hmm, I figured as much,” Kuroo yawned lazily, leaning back into his chair, “He won’t meet Ushiwaka”

“Who would you want us to send?” Goshiki questioned, his bangs sweeping across his forehead as his neck tilted to one side like a curious puppy. 

“Let’s send Shoyo,” Bokuto-san said after a few seconds, looking over to Hinata with a big grin.

 _What?_ Hinata’s confidence surged as he realized that _he_ was being chosen to relay some very important information to another _yakuza_ group. Kuroo-san had even called it a respectable group, high praise from the _kumicho_ of one of the largest _yakuza_ organizations in Japan. 

“I hardly think Tangerine-kun has what it takes to relay such confidential and important information to Oikawa-san, especially considering the man’s fragile pride,” Tsukishima picked at his fingernails, disinterestedly. 

“We need him out of Tokyo,” Kozume challenged Tsukishima for the second time that night, “You saw his name as clearly as I did on that list. Keeping Shoyo here would endanger him.”

 _Oh, poop._ Hinata froze, his suspicions confirmed as everyone looked at him with pity. 

“Why should we care?”

“Tsukishima Kei,” Kuroo snapped, his voice low and quiet, but strict enough that even Hinata flinched. Tsukishima scowled, killing Hinata himself in his head as he cast his gaze down onto the paper in front of him. 

“Sorry”

“All members have value,” Kuroo chastised him, voice a little gentler than it had been. 

Tsukishima nodded wordlessly. 

“When do I leave?” Hinata winced as his voice broke the tepid and awkward silence again. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Kozume answered, pausing before smiling gently, “You can do it Shoyo”

If Kozume-san trusted in him, Hinata _couldn’t_ fail. It wasn’t even sentiment, it was _fact._

“I won’t fail you,” Hinata bowed, yelping when his forehead smashed against the table. 

Kozume laughed lightly, the sound initiating others to giggle and join in. The tension that had been there previously vanished, but the kill-list remained projected on the wall.

 _Hinata Shoyo_ bled into the paper, words startlingly dark and looking more like blood than ink. 

###  **»»————- ♡ -————««**

KAGEYAMA TOBIO WASN’T SURE IF THIS WAS A JOKE. When he’d initially been told he’d be meeting the _kumicho_ of the Yamaguchi-kai _yakuza_ , he’d almost backed out of his promotion. ‘ _The boss wants to meet you’_ wasn’t exactly a phrase most wanted to hear in the _yakuza_ and it definitely wasn’t one Kageyama was expecting to hear. _Sure,_ he’d worked his ass off the last few years playing mock-Robin Hood in the streets of Miyagi, namely Karasuno, but an above-average work ethic and end-result didn’t warrant a meeting with the leader of the _yakuza_ group he was a part of: _Did it?_

Though Kageyama was an exceptional shot, logic and optimism had never been his strength. 

Part of Kageyama’s fear lay in the legend that clouded Yamaguchi-kai. He’d heard tales of Yamaguchi-kai’s long-running history of a strong bloodline of fortuitous _kumicho_. Most of these tales revolved around the incidents of the tsunami that had hit Miyagi particularly roughly, around 10 years ago. Kageyama wasn’t the only one who had lost family in the event. A majority of their younger members had been orphaned, like him, in the catastrophe and the chaos that had ensued: Even Yamaguchi-kai’s present leader, their _kumicho_ , Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Yamaguchi Tadashi had lost everything in the weeks following the disaster: his parents and many loyal _yakuza_ members he’d grown up with like an extended family. It should have made him weak. It should have made him spiteful and fearful, but it hadn’t. Truthfully, _kumicho_ Yamaguchi Tadashi was one of the best leaders Kageyama had heard of for a suburban _yakuza_ group. Many _yakuza_ groups had deviated from their original purpose, breaking the code of _jingi_ that had bound them many years ago. _Yakuza_ was not a profiteering industry, it was a promise to the people of Japan. It was a promise to uphold their rights when the government turned a blind eye and to aid them in times of need. 

Yamaguchi’s parents had executed their promise with their last breath by mobilizing incredibly large task-forces to aid the citizens of Miyagi after the tsunami. Yamaguchi-kai’s aid had exceeded that of the government, but it had still been a deadly event and had stolen countless lives. 

Undeterred, Yamaguchi Tadashi had taken the reins from Shimada-san (who’d temporarily stepped in as Yamaguchi grew up) as soon as he’d hit sixteen. He’d been resourceful off the bat, following _jingi_ as loyally as his parents and those before him had.

It was this resilience and determination, as well as the subtle intelligence and imposing shadow, of _kumicho_ Yamaguchi that made him such an impressive leader. 

It was also what made Kageyama shit-scared of holding an audience with him. 

“Don’t be nervous, Kageyama-kun”

Kageyama flew forward with an exaggerated flinch when Suga-san patted his back, materializing out of seemingly nowhere. The fair-haired man snickered into his hand, dragging Kageyama ahead to the double-doors guarding the meeting room. 

Koushi Sugawara had been the one to request an audience with _kumicho_ Yamaguchi and he was disturbingly unbothered by Kageyama’s impending doom. Suga-san served as the Yamaguchi-kai’s _wakagashira_ — the right-hand man to the _kumicho_ — and he’d been the one to promote Kageyama to his new position of _wakagashira-hosa_. Essentially, Kageyama would aid Suga-san in carrying out the _kumicho_ ’s orders and delegating it to whomever necessary. Kageyama was to be a helper, a not-unfamiliar job, but one that had taken a lot of convincing on Suga’s part to coerce the reluctant man.

Though he would be in a helper’s role, _wakagashira-hosa_ was still an extremely respectable position of importance in the _yakuza._

The power had gone to Kageyama’s head swiftly before Suga-san had delivered the fatal blow that the promotional ritual, where the promoted and the promoter would exchange cups of _sake_ as was tradition, would not be between _Sugawara_ and Kageyama, but rather _Yamaguchi_ and Kageyama. 

Kageyama felt like he was about to pass a very large kidney stone, his chest tight and face cherry red after forgetting to breathe. 

“Is he okay?” One of the men guarding the double doors stared at Kageyama with an intimidating look. His head was shaved, hands casually thrust into the pockets of his baggy pants. 

_Who’s this thug?_

Kageyama scowled, the expression coming to him naturally as Suga-san laughed and patted both his and McBaldy’s shoulders good-naturedly. 

“Kageyama, meet Tanaka Ryusoke. He’s another _wakagashira-hosa._ ”

Kageyama maintained composure, nodding stiffly at _Tanaka-san_. 

“You’re the newbie?!”

Tanaka guffawed, bringing Kageyama into a tight headlock as his knuckles made home at, what seemed like, the base of Kageyama’s brainstem. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been noogied so... _enthusiastically?_ Kageyama accepted his punishment wordlessly, assuming all this was just formality they’d permitted him before _kumicho_ Yamaguchi shot his sorry ass in the head for being unbearably worthless.

“Welcome to the family!” Tanaka cheered, finally letting go.

Kageyama couldn’t bring himself to say thank you, stiffly nodding once more. The rowdy guard chuckled to himself, gaze still intimidating though there wasn’t anyone left to intimidate: Suga-san seemed unaffected and Kageyama was already on a downhill roller coaster with the destination being shitting his pants. _Yamaguchi Tadashi._ The name echoed in his head raucously and Kageyama felt his muscles seize and his ass clench as the doors opened slowly. 

A face peeked in between the wood, a mass of red hair gelled up into a high porcupine-peak and staring eyes met Kageyama’s glare. 

“Who do we have here?” The face cooed, a smile accompanying an otherwise scarily vacant expression.

“This is our new _wakagashira-hosa_ , Tendou-san” 

Kageyama managed to duck behind Suga, avoiding Tanaka as he jumped to noogie Kageyama again. Tanaka laughed heartily, using _Tendou_ ’s forehead to prop himself up. Tendou didn’t join in on the amusement but instead peered curiously at Kageyama with wide searching eyes. 

Kageyama hated how uncomfortable the guy’s gaze made him feel— like there was something behind Kageyama waiting to pounce and he was eager to watch the carnage. Suga seemed to notice Kageyama’s discomfort, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder as the more relaxed senior faced Tendou with a small smile. 

“Tendou-san, can you let us through?”

Tendou mulled over his decision, pulling an exaggerated face. 

“I suppose I could”

He nodded to himself and suddenly pulled his face back. The doors started swinging open again and Kageyama’s heart dropped straight to his stomach. _Life has been absolute shit so far, but I’m not ready to die._ It also bugged him how nonchalantly Suga-san was bringing him forth into his impending doom. Suga had been his guide, his mentor, after he’d abruptly moved a few years back and he was hoping for at least pity, if not camaraderie, to be expressed.

 _Yamaguchi Tadashi was going to wipe the floor with him_. Of this, Kageyama was certain. 

Kageyama then faced the solid possibility that Suga-san, like everyone Kageyama had met, really did not give a shit about Kageyama. Kageyama would leave the world unloved and more than slightly hungry. _Fuck._

“Sugawara-kun, how are you?” An older, bespectacled man greeted them from the far end of a large circular table occupying nearly the whole room. Kageyama scanned the perimeter instinctually, confused when he saw that the strange red-haired man from before was nowhere to be seen. _Tendou-san?_ Had he imagined the whole exchange?

“...Kageyama-kun?” 

Kageyama tuned back into reality, flushing when he realized Suga had pulled a chair out for him. He wasn’t like _this_. He wasn’t easily flustered and he definitely didn’t doubt his sanity. _He didn’t fear death_. Well, he liked to think he didn’t. _But the prospect of meeting Yamaguchi Tadashi made his legs turn into jelly._

“Hello, Kageyama Tobio,” the man across the table waved amusedly at Kageyama, “I’m Shimada Makoto, Yamaguchi-kai’s _saito-komon_ ” 

So, this was their _saito-komon_ , advisor to _kumicho_ Yamaguchi. He’d been the one to temporarily step in following the tsunami that had taken Yamaguchi-kai’s former _kumicho._ From what Kageyama could remember of the rumors, Shimada-san had been an astute leader and more than a few were confused as to why he had stepped down without a fight. Those few were stupid, though, and incapable of understanding the difference between a temporary leader and a lifelong _kumicho_. Shimada-san had done his job well, but he was definitely more suited to his present role of _saito-komon_ than he had been as _kumicho_. Intellect and skill were beneficial to have, but leadership was a quality possessed by few. 

“Uh,” Kageyama stuttered intelligently, “Nice to meet you, I’m Kageyama Tobio.” _He already knew that, you idiot._

Kageyama was making a _great_ impression on his superiors. 

“Shimada-san, I was reviewing our reports from our posting in Johz—” 

A young man entered the room from a concealed entrance, steps small and quick as he shuffled through papers in his hands. His hair was shaggy with an impressively stubborn cowlick pattern by the crown. _Why is an accountant just waltzing into the meeting room?_

The man paused in his tracks, turning towards where Suga and Kageyama were seated slowly. A small blush bloomed by his ears, coating the mass of freckles that dotted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot” 

His voice remained calm, the blush on his face a strange contrast to the chilling authority in his voice. _Is this…?_ Kageyama’s breath hitched when the man pulled out the seat at the head of the table, sitting down gently. He folded his hands over the paperwork he’d been rustling, smiling kindly in Kageyama’s direction. _No fucking way. That’s Yamaguchi Tadashi?_

Kageyama had never seen or heard a description of the enigmatic leader, his imagination more than sufficient to portray someone straight out of a Western film: barrel-chested, overwhelmingly charismatic, and guns drawn. The man before him looked like he’d be too nervous to tell the waiter that they’d gotten his order wrong. His voice, however, made one think he’d shoot them for messing up an order. 

_Incredible._

“I thought you would,” Shimada laughed and Suga smiled knowingly, both of them oblivious to Kageyama’s mental short-circuiting, “That’s why I sent Tendou to get you”

Yamaguchi sighed, lips stretching into a brief frown, “I’d thought you wanted to review the reports. That’s my bad. My bad.” He muttered quietly, fingers prodding the paper stack into a neater pile. 

“Ah, well,” The _kumicho_ straightened in his chair, eyes meeting Kageyama’s before he could look away. They were a cold, steely gray, and Kageyama felt himself stiffen. The man’s voice had shifted suddenly, tone creeping with frost on the edges and unwavering.

“Nice to meet you, Kageyama Tobio” 

Kageyama overcame his shock moments later when Yamaguchi smiled primly. _He knows. He knows everything._

Yamaguchi Tadashi was a _scary_ guy. He still looked like a _kid_ , but Kageyama had seen enough faces to know what souls to fear: Yamaguchi’s soul poured through like poison gas, bottled up behind his irises in a lurking, chemically unstable expression.

“I understand Koushi wishes to promote you to _wakagashira-hosa_?”

Kageyama could only nod in response, any semblance of language dying in the back of his mouth. 

“I also understand that you were demoted from a similar position a few years back. You were a _shateigashira-hosa_ , right? A helper to our head of activities in Aoba-Johsai.” Yamaguchi phrased his inquisition like he was merely questioning Kageyama, but when Suga’s smile slid off his face Kageyama figured it was more than that. Yamaguchi wanted to see if he’d break. 

A host of bothersome memories surged in Kageyama’s mind at the mention of Aoba-Johsai, and he struggled to push them down. _Don’t show. Don’t show._ But it was too late, the _kumicho_ ’s eyes flickering with recognition of a drowning man as he watched Kageyama succumb to the surge. 

Kageyama could feel himself being swept away.

He _had_ been demoted from _shateigashira-hosa_. How could he _possibly_ expect a flawless promotion to a similarly functioning position, but at a higher level?

He was supposed to assist Suga-san, but he’d failed to be a good assistant before. Who was to say he wouldn’t fail again? Only, this time, the stakes were higher. 

“ _Kageyama Tobio,_ ” Yamaguchi’s voice cut through the haze, and Kageyama’s hands clenched into fists. 

“Yes?”

“I believe that only men who are aware of their failures can lead successful conquests” 

_What?_ Words failed Kageyama once more as he gaped at the _kumicho_. Yamaguchi met his gaze with an amused expression, the intimidation, and judgment that had been there before wiping off like a layer of dust. _He’d done it on purpose._ Kageyama exhaled shakily. 

_Yamaguchi Tadashi is a scary man._

“Drink”

The command was simple and Kageyama nodded. He couldn’t remember when the _sake_ had been set out, but he sipped at his cup dutifully. Suga-san took the cup from him, walking up and placing it in front of Yamaguchi as Shimada-san did the same to Yamaguchi’s cup. 

Kageyama drank again, relishing in the burn that forced _those_ memories back, deep down, where he’d hidden them. They would rear their ugly heads again one day, but for now… 

Yamaguchi grinned broadly, his eyes void of any telling emotion. 

“Welcome to the family” 

______________________________________________________________________________


	2. agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozume and Hinata (Kuroo-gumi) visit Oikawa (Yamaguchi-kai) to talk about the hit-list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I understand that Haikyuu takes place in Japan and, in accordance with the culture and the vibe I wish to present, I will be referring to the crime groups mentioned as being yakuza. However, I would like to define the yakuza groups of this story as being largely fictional, and mostly inaccurate as compared to the real yakuza of Japan. This is not meant to be a mockery. I have done research on yakuza (as much as my little brain would allow) and try to regularly incorporate the appropriate words and ceremonies. Feel free to correct me if you know better, but understand that this is a loose, fictional representation. Thank you and enjoy reading!

###  **chapter two**

“UWAAH, WHAT’S THAT?!”

Hinata Shoyo was excited. 

“Kozume-san, what’s that?!”

He was _very_ excited. 

Kozume laughed to himself, the red-headed recruit’s energy impossibly infectious. Nobody could have guessed by looking at them that Hinata was a little less than a year younger than the clever-looking legal advisor, but age had never limited the both of them. Death didn’t discriminate based on age, and apparently neither did _yakuza_ recruits. Kozume had joined Kuroo-gumi solely because Kuroo had begged him to, and Hinata… Hinata had his own personal reasons. 

“Call me Kenma,” Kozume half-smiled when Hinata stared at him in awe, backpack half-falling off the shorter boy’s shoulders. 

“ _Wah_ , really? Okay, Kenma!” Hinata beamed, zooming around the train car as surreptitiously as he could— which wasn’t very. 

Kozume couldn’t place exactly _why_ he admired the short boy so much, but he chalked it up to the child-like honesty Shoyo presented. Though Kuroo never kept any secrets from him, Kozume couldn’t genuinely say Kuroo was honest: Kuroo lied as easily as he breathed. Bokuto was a bit better, but his mood swings made him an unreliable source of comfort. Of course, there was always Tsukishima who was open to listening to everything Kozume had to say, but Kozume couldn’t bring himself to trust the glasses-wearing advisor. 

Call it a petty grudge or whatever, but Kozume wasn’t very fond of Kuroo’s ex-boyfriend for personal reasons. 

“Kenma?”

Kozume blinked slowly, focusing on Hinata’s eager face peering at him from the little hood he’d drawn up. Bokuto had made the mistake of telling Hinata to treat his travels like he was a secret agent, and so now the boy had been hiding behind every pillar in sight and attempting to stuff his vibrant hair under a too-small hood. 

_Cute._ Kozume smiled. He seemed to do that a lot around Shoyo. 

Hinata couldn’t make out the look in Kenma’s eyes, but a smile was a smile, and so he smiled back. _He was so excited it hurt_ : Hinata could feel all his energy bubble up inside as he tried to remain calm and not disturb their fellow passengers. The passengers, unbeknownst to Hinata, watched on amusedly. To them, it looked like two school children were traveling back home from an outing in the big city. 

In reality, Hinata was edging on 25 and Kozume had witnessed more illegal arms deals than the passengers could dream of.

But it was nice, Kozume thought, the innocence of humanity, even if it was only a short-fledged phenomenon. 

Kozume could pick out two separate passengers who gambled heavily, a third of the total passengers had various drug addictions, and few with more… unsettling problems. Kozume didn’t want to dwell on the average human’s indecencies, so he busied himself with studying Hinata and his remarkably pure-hearted tendencies. It was the little things: the way he’d smush his face against the window and ooh and ahh at the most mundane of things.

Lazy roads became race tracks in Hinata’s mind, and Kozume loved Hinata’s mind. 

“Kenma, how do you think I should approach Oikawa-san?”

Hinata whispered, his ‘inside’ voice more than enough to carry in the train’s small compartment. Thankfully, most of its occupants seemed deluged with their own worries to pay attention to the chattering, prepubescent-looking boy who lit up the compartment like a megawatt bulb. 

Kozume wasn’t sure what exactly made Hinata glow, Tsukishima had often suggested that the boy was actually radioactive and needed to be disposed of, but it was absolute and unfiltered. Hinata shone with some kind of internal sun that gave off waves of warmth and brightness.

It could be too much at times, but in Kozume’s world of black and white, it was a welcome change. 

“Just be yourself, Shoyo,” Kozume smiled again, ignoring the ping his phone made when he received a message. It was probably from Kuroo, and if Kozume had learned anything from being joined-at-the-hip with the _kumicho_ for the past twenty years it was that Kuroo could be ridiculously clingy at times. 

Kozume also knew that, though he rebuffed the man’s affections and neediness most of the time, he wouldn’t be where he was today without Kuroo. Their relationship was convoluted, complicated at best, but neither would trade it for anything. They couldn’t afford to. The only ones they could trust to not leave when they divulged their secrets were each other, and since they already knew each other's secrets it was a cold fact: they were stuck with each other until the day they died. 

“Oh,” Hinata hummed, legs kicking restlessly in his seat, “But won’t I intimidate him?”

“I don’t think you should worry about that, Shoyo,” Kozume stifled a laugh behind a well-placed cough, drawing further into his seat as a few heads turned. 

“Is Oikawa-san really brave then? Then, why won’t he meet with Ushijima-san?” 

Kozume made a shushing motion and Hinata dropped his voice, embarrassment flooding his features. _Sorry_ , the red-head mouthed, eyes darting around paranoidly for any potential listeners. Kozume had already scoped the compartment for any unusual figures when they’d gotten on, so he wasn’t too pressed about other _yakuza_ being on board. His biggest fear was that civilians would overhear the names they were discussing and somehow lead whoever had made the kill-list straight to Shoyo. Rumors traveled faster than ambulances, this Kozume knew for certain. 

“I know,” Hinata lit up, eyes wide and determined, “Let’s use code names

Kozume couldn’t help the snort that left his mouth, covering his mouth a bit too late as Hinata flushed. 

“Let’s call Ushijima-san ‘Mountain Man’ because his headquarters are in the hills,” Hinata spluttered out, undeterred by Kozume’s amusement. 

“And you can choose a nickname for Oikawa-san.”

Kozume hummed pleasantly, imagining the different names Kuroo would have undoubtedly made up on the spot for the rather special specimen that Oikawa Tooru was. The man was very good at his job as _shateigashira_ . In fact, he was one of the best to date. Tsukishima kept tabs on other, known clan’s habits and they showed that Oikawa had managed to obtain full control over Aoba-Johsai in his first two years as _shateigashira_. Not even the local police force had as much say as he and his men did, the majority of crime having been undercut. Aoba-Johsai, after Oikawa had stepped in, had become one of the safest places in all of Japan. 

It was second only to Shiratorizowa in the Miyagi prefecture. 

“Let’s call him ‘King’,” Kozume suggested, partially thinking of Oikawa’s accomplishments and partially thinking of the man’s gigantic ego.

“Wah, that’s a cool name!” Hinata looked out the window in awe, legs bouncing with excitement. 

“Bokuto-san told me that Oikawa-san is really lame, but if you want to call him ‘King’ then he must be cool!”

Of course, Bokuto had called Oikawa lame. Kozume wasn’t surprised, and he wasn’t mad either. For all his greatness, Oikawa Tooru also had the capability to be an extremely shitty human being. He definitely wasn’t on the ‘shittyness’ spectrum Kuroo had created (it consisted of other ‘ _yakuza_ ’ groups who led illegal arms trades and human trafficking circles around the Pacific), but he was a far cry from being anyone’s favorite person.

The only reason people dealt with him was for his brain.

“Let’s call him ‘Great King’,” Hinata said with determination, eyes filled with fantastical images of men with iron fists and cool secret hideouts. 

Kozume tried to hide his laugh again, failing when a weird snort forced its way out of his nose. 

“Sure,” He agreed swiftly so Hinata wouldn’t feel bad. 

“Okay,” Hinata brightened, his eagerness beginning to rub off on Kozume just a smidgen, “So when I approach the Great King, I need to be the exact opposite of the Mountain Man?” 

Kozume gave up, shoulders shaking as he laughed into both of his hands. He couldn’t help it. Hinata’s question had sounded like a narration from a video game, and now all Kozume could picture was a pixelated Hinata Shoyo, a small sword at his side, and a dwarven Ushijima Wakatoshi. Oikawa had somehow morphed species in Kozume’s mind, the ‘Great King’ resembling Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars more than the courageous stalwart Hinata had in mind. Kozume couldn’t recall the last time he’d played a video game, and the nostalgia hit him sharply, like a bullet. 

“Let’s drop the nicknames, Shoyo,” Kozume finally got out, smiling kindly when Hinata frowned and relented with a sigh. 

“What if I mess up, Kenma-san?” 

“We’ll have your back,” Kozume answered honestly, finally pulling his phone out. Sure enough, it had been clingy Tetsurou and his less-than-appropriate texts that had been blowing up Kozume’s phone. Kozume felt himself flush a little. _How annoying._

But still, it felt nice to be needed. 

“When we get there,” Kozume caught the time on his phone, beginning the little debriefing he and Tsukishima had planned for Hinata. 

“You will be given a room in the neutral zone of Karasuno. Ushijima-san and I will prepare your visit with Oikawa, after which I will return to Tokyo—”

“—Thank you,” Hinata blurted out, his excitement melting into something a little more sour and anxious, “I know you said you’d help me personally even though I’m not that important, so thank you, Kenma”

Kozume froze: Hinata’s name written in bold, smudged ink flashing across his face again. 

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Hinata’s warm attempt at a smile tumbled off his face, a stoic and passive expression taking its place. It looked unnatural like Hinata wasn’t meant to be anything besides happy and excited (that could just be Kozume’s bias, but whatever). 

“If your meeting with Oikawa goes successfully, both Aone Takanobu and Futakuchi Kenji have volunteered to serve as your protection during your stay in Miyagi”

'Volunteer' was a light way of putting it. As soon as Hinata’s name had appeared on the projected screen, the meeting room had been stifled by Aone and Futakuchi’s presence. They’d been angry, an uncommon sight, and Bokuto had been right there with them. If Bokuto hadn’t been the second-priority of Kuroo-gumi, he may have convinced Kuroo to let him come down to Miyagi and guard Hinata himself. Thankfully, Tsukishima had been able to ward Bokuto off from the plan.

“But they should be protecting Bokuto-san,” Hinata protested uneasily, a small frown curling down his mouth. 

“Fukunaga Shohei and Kamasaki Yasushi have taken over that role temporarily,” Kozume reassured him.

“If all goes well with the discussion between Oikawa and Yamaguchi-kai’s _kumicho_ —”

“—Who is the _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai?” Hinata’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, shame hitting him a second later when he realized he’d interrupted Kozume for the second time. 

Kozume shook off Hinata’s apologies, settling into his seat a little bit, “We don’t know”

Hinata gaped at Kozume wordlessly. 

“We keep tabs on what is publicly perceivable,” Kozume tried explaining, “and the current _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai has never been seen by the public”

“Never?” Hinata immediately thought of a greying wizard, locked away in a tower and living a hermit’s life. _How lonely that must be._

“We are aware that the former _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai passed in a tsunami,” Kozume stalled when Hinata’s face turned ashen, resuming a second later when Hinata peered at him, interested, “and we are also aware that the _saiko-komon_ at the time stepped in to serve as temporary _kumicho_.”

“Did the former _kumicho_ have a son?” Hinata’s feet swung a little and his shoelaces, now miraculously untied, slapped at Kozume’s pant leg. He knew that _yakuza_ clans were primarily patriarchal and leadership would probably be passed down to a son if there was one present. 

“Yes, we believe that he took the reins back from Shimada Makoto when he turned eighteen, around six years ago, but nobody, apart from their clan, knows his first name, nor his appearance” 

Hinata shivered in a combination of awe and fear. To be shrouded in mystery as such, the kumicho of Yamaguchi-kai must be an incredibly cool person.

Kozume allowed Hinata a moment of excitement before quickly going through what he’d been meaning to say earlier. 

“As I was saying, if all goes well with the discussion then the members of Yamaguchi-kai we believe to be in danger will be offered protection”

“Oh, does that mean I’ll be staying with them or will they be split up?” Hinata seemed a little less green now, possibly now-accepting of the fact that he was in mortal peril. 

“We may request Aone and Futakuchi to guard one other person alongside you, but we won’t be putting all three of you together,” Kozume shook his head slowly, tapping Hinata’s knee when the train began to slow as it reached their destination. 

“I get a roommate,” Hinata whispered with hushed excitement. He was already thinking of all the questions he would be able to ask and all the things he’d be able to learn. 

“You can both bond over the bounty on your heads,” Kozume responded dryly, shoving his phone back into his pocket and walking Hinata over to where a car was waiting for them. The driver nodded at Kozume, a maroon and white swan embroidered into his jacket. 

Kozume didn’t nod back, instead, flashing a little patch sewn into the inside of his own jacket. It was small and almost unnoticeable: a tiny red cat on a black background the size of a postage stamp. The driver seemed satisfied with it, glancing over at Hinata before they all got into the vehicle. 

Hinata was excited again, the exchange of patches too much for his over-imaginative self. Traditionally, _yakuza_ groups would probably have symbolic tattoos, but tattoos weren’t easy to hide and police were usually on the lookout for anything like that. Patches made it a lot easier to be secretive, plus, it hurt way less. 

“Kenma,” Hinata actually whispered, his voice so low it almost got lost in the slow rumble of the car as they pulled away from the station.

“Who is on the kill-list from Yamaguchi-kai?”

Kozume eyed the driver through the rear-view, his sharp gaze making the driver sweat nervously. Once he was satisfied that the driver was too scared to listen, he leaned in close to Hinata, hair brushing the shorter one’s ear ticklishly. 

“One man, named Kageyama Tobio,” Kozume cleared his voice, his throat strangely dry. 

“And another,” He hesitated. The name had been too blurry to make out, only the first name visible. He hoped that it wasn’t too-common of a name in Yamaguchi-kai, or they’d be screwed. 

“Tadashi”

Hinata looked at him, confused, “Just Tadashi?”

Kozume nodded, his face blank as a small pool of anxiety began to bubble up in his stomach. Tsukishima had done some research before letting them come to Miyagi, and the result had shown that there were two Tadashis in the area concerned with possible-gang activities. 

One was Sato Tadashi, who owned a mechanic shop in Sendai.

The other, a much more worrisome prospect, was Yamaguchi Tadashi: a man who had been dead for the last sixteen years according to all available records. 

Kozume hoped the last name was a coincidence. 

Kozume didn’t believe in coincidences. 

### »»————- ♡ -————««

OIKAWA HAD A SPLITTING HEADACHE. The kind that starts off small so you brush aside medication and then before you know it, it feels like somebody stabbed you in the temple with a dull pencil. His day had begun normally, receiving reports on Aoba-Johsai’s economy from Takeru-chan, making Kyoutani run and get him milk bread to snack on, deleting a few voicemails from Ushijima Wakatoshi… _okay, so maybe not completely normal_ . Ushijima had harassed Oikawa in the years before he became a _shateigashira_ for another clan, something about his skills being useful to Kuroo-gumi and Shiratorizowa, but Oikawa didn’t want to go to Shiratorizowa. After becoming _shateigashira_ of Aoba-Johsai, the harassment had gradually ceased and Oikawa had hoped that those days were far behind him.

Not only could he not stand Ushijima’s overbearing presence, but Shiratorizowa’s method of maintaining order didn’t sit right with him. They got far too physically invested in criminal doings far too quickly, and Oikawa preferred to not get his hands dirty: that’s why he had Kyoutani Kentarou who was only too enthusiastic to rough up some imbeciles. They called him ‘Mad Dog’ on the streets, so Oikawa took up the nickname and added his own embezzlement of ‘-chan’ to the end of it.

Needless to say, ‘Mad Dog’-chan didn’t appreciate the cuteness of his new nickname the way Oikawa did. Oikawa wasn’t too bothered by Kyoutani’s anger though: he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about someone else’s opinions. Besides, annoying people was rather fun. 

“You have one new message,” Oikawa’s answering machine beeped lowly, for what seemed like the fifth time in the past hour. It was Ushijima, undoubtedly, and he’d ceased trying to use different numbers to maintain secrecy. Oikawa had told his secretary to automatically delete all messages from that number, convinced that Ushijima had just grown bored and wanted to harass him a bit more. Unfortunately for him, Yahaba-chan was out for a lunch break, and the beeping was driving him mad. 

He couldn’t ask Kyoutani to take care of it either because, as much as he hated to admit it, the man refused to listen to anyone except for Yahaba Shigeru. Oikawa wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, since Yahaba usually just repeated Oikawa’s instructions, but he wasn’t about to confront Mad Dog-chan. Oikawa wasn’t stupid. 

Oikawa let the machine play the message, curiosity finally getting to him as the beeping ceased and the robotic drawl began. 

“Oikawa Tooru,”

Ushijima’s voice was recognizably annoying even with the added robotic layer. It made Oikawa scowl and miss his shot when he tried tossing some paper into the dustbin. 

“Since you have denied the past thirteen attempts of a meeting, I have called on my _kumicho_ ,”

Oikawa spluttered, whipping around and stalking towards the phone like it would playback what Ushijima had recorded. _Ushijima had gotten his kumicho involved?_ Oikawa was as good as dead. He didn’t think what Ushijima was harassing him about had been _official business_.

 _Well, shit_. 

Oikawa silently prayed that Police Commissioner Iwaizumi Hajime wouldn’t be the one to find his mangled, broken body. That would be tragic. 

_Would Iwaizumi cry?_

Oikawa selfishly hoped so. 

“... expect visitors in the next 24 hours”

The voicemail box beeped to signal the end of the message and Oikawa paced by the window. There were heavy curtains, installed to keep the too-bright sun away and to prevent anyone from seeing into Oikawa’s office, but Oikawa drew them back with a flourish as he gulped down the calming view. It wasn’t the city skyline of Tokyo, that was for sure, but Aoba-Johsai possessed its own beauty. 

“Oikawa—”

“—Yahaba-chan!”

Oikawa froze mid-pace and turned towards his returned secretary with a scarily forced smile. He’d gotten quite good at manipulating his own emotions, and Yahaba knew enough to not poke or prod into Oikawa’s business. 

“We are expecting visitors from Kuroo-gumi, prepare a location, and notify Suga.”

Yahaba looked at him tiredly, a bag of leftovers clutched in one hand, his phone in the other. 

“What?” Oikawa frowned, “Lunch is over, chop-chop, get to work” 

“Did you eat lunch Oikawa-san?” Yahaba’s expression remained unchanging as he flung the bag onto Oikawa’s desk, not waiting for an answer. It opened a little and Oikawa saw the familiar wrappings of convenience store food: a sandwich and a water bottle. 

“What a softie,” He called out to Yahaba’s retreating form, his smile dropping when the tired man continued to ignore him. 

Oikawa settled behind his desk, freezing when a small note fluttered out of the plastic bag. He’d only just put his hand in when the adhesive stuck to his wrist and he peered at it with interest. Oikawa had received many secretly placed love letters in the past, but a post-it note would have had to have been the least flattering of all his experiences. He only knew one person rude enough to use post-it notes…

_Remember to eat, Shittykawa._

Oikawa lay his head down on his desk, the cool wood a welcome distraction from his overheating face. The post-it note crumpled in his fist as he tossed it into the bin by his desk, the sound strangely amplified. He hadn’t even made it to the third bite of his sandwich when Oikawa found himself on his knees, gingerly picking the post-it note back out of the trash.

He flattened it as best he could and put it in his desk drawer with the others. 

_How dare he?_

Oikawa told himself that he kept the notes as a reminder to be angry. _Angry._

That’s why his entire body felt like it had been shoved into a sauna: anger. 

The blush covering his whole body? _Obviously, unbridled rage._

“Oikawa,”

A knock at his door made Oikawa raise his head quickly, slapping on a smile. 

“Those visitors are already here. I’ve notified Suga-san and he said to hold their audience and that backup will be ready if needed.”

Oikawa got up slowly, movements unbetraying of his nerves. His sleeves scratched roughly at the skin of his forearm and he rolled them back, adjusting his watch so the face was on the inside of his arm. Yahaba had gestured to their standard meeting room before bustling away to ready backup in case the meeting went awry, and so Oikawa found himself outside the room’s doors hesitant to enter. His stomach grumbled forlornly and Oikawa wondered if the members of Kuroo-gumi would be offended if he ate. 

_Probably_. If Ushijima was anything like the other members of Kuroo-gumi, then they’d take everything very seriously. 

_What is this all about?_

Oikawa slipped in silently, stalling when he saw two children seated at the table. One was practically vibrating in his seat, a dangerous glint reflecting off his eyes into his partner’s. The other had longer hair, fading blond to black compared to the hyper one’s red, and his eyes read like a cat’s. They were cold, and decidedly not that of a child’s. 

“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa announced his presence, his smile not faltering when they both turned to him, unsurprised. It was like they had known he was there but had chosen to ignore him.

_Ignore him?_

Oikawa’s smile strained. 

“ _Shateigashira_ of Aoba-Johsai, under Yamaguchi-kai,” Oikawa continued his introduction, easing himself into a seat at the opposite end of the table. His knee creaked painfully and Oikawa fought a flinch. He’d injured his knee a few years ago during a field operation, the muscle never quite springing back to its former strength. The pain would flare up at the weirdest moments, and Oikawa despised how weak it made him feel. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance…?” 

He trailed off, leaving a lot of vacant room for the not-children-but-short Kuroo-gumi representatives to introduce themselves. The red-head did so without further provocation. 

“Hinata Shoyo,” He all-but shouted, “ _Wakagashira-hosa_ , Kuroo-gumi”

“Kozume Kenma,” The cat-like one spoke softly, eyes boring a hole through Oikawa’s forehead.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them as Oikawa realized that that was the extent of the introduction he was going to get. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Oikawa’s stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl loudly and he performed a series of stomach contractions and convulsions to make the sound muted. He grinned through the whole thing, silently wishing for a swift death at Kuroo-gumi’s hand, though preferably not Ushijima Wakatoshi’s.

Ushijima wouldn’t make it swift. He’d probably draw it out with a long speech and end it with the inevitable _you should have com_ —

—“There’s a kill list” 

“Oh,” Oikawa straightened up, his previously astray thought process lining up into a fatal spike. 

“Two names,” Kozume continued, simultaneously intrigued and annoyed by the many-faced man in front of him. Oikawa Tooru truly was a great leader, and highly-skilled, but the inability to overcome his weaknesses left him bitter. Kozume didn’t like bitter much, tartness and sweet more to his liking. 

“From our clan?” Oikawa’s brow furrowed, worriedly. 

“Whose kill-list is this?”

Oikawa gingerly accepted the paper Kozume slid across the table. It was a rough scan of what seemed to be an insanely blurry picture. Oikawa hummed to himself, pulling his glasses out of his breast pocket as the blurred ink pulled together to form names. 

“An informant?”

“Their position is currently compromised,” Hinata finally spoke up, an eerily serious look on his face, “We think the names over there-no-there-yeah, by your thumb, are from people in Yamaguchi-kai” 

Oikawa’s voice caught in his throat, breath stuttering. _Kageyama Tobio. How…?_

Kageyama was an idiot so Oikawa shouldn’t have been surprised, but a mellow ache settled in his chest as he recalled the ever-annoying boy he’d practically raised. _Idiot._ Oikawa hissed. Tobio-chan had undoubtedly pissed off the wrong people, and now he was on a kill-list. _Fantastic._

_And the next name…_

Oikawa prayed he was mistaken, but the grim look on Kozume’s face sent his prayers to the dust.

“We would have tried for an audience with a more prominent member of Yamaguchi-kai, but Ushijima assured us of your competency,” Kozume rolled the last word against the roof of his mouth, a low purr. He blinked lazily, analyzing Oikawa with a pinpoint glare.

Oikawa didn’t let his goosebumps show and he nodded slowly, rapping his knuckles against the table. The entrance door slammed open, Kyoutani entering with a disgruntled look on his face. A wave of awe and fear flew across Hinata’s face briefly and Oikawa smiled a little. 

He was new. He had a lot of potential, but his emotions were too easy to read. A weakness like that could prove to be fatal. 

It was a weakness Oikawa himself possessed. 

“We’re going straight to our base,” He looked over his shoulder when Kozume made a coughing sound. 

“Just Shoyo,” Kozume scanned his phone tiredly, “I’m needed elsewhere”

Kozume got up, fingers clamping down on Hinata’s shoulder in a tight squeeze. The still-seated boy looked up at him, eyes wide and excited. He looked a little green, but Kozume had faith. _Faith._ Such a funny word. Kozume hadn’t used it in what felt like ages, but he couldn’t think of anything else to describe what he felt for Hinata. _Faith_. Hinata wasn’t one to back down easily.

He fought. Kozume knew that. 

Kyoutani allowed Kozume to pass by, an ugly look of distrust plainly splattered across his face. Kyoutani couldn’t fathom what people like _that_ , people from other clans, people who looked so apathetic, could be doing in Aoba-Johsai. He didn’t like it. 

But Yahaba had said to listen to Oikawa (the request would wear away in a few hours), and so Kyoutani found himself waiting by the door as Oikawa gazed at the wall. 

“Bring Chibi-chan over there,” Oikawa smirked when Hinata started, making a disgruntled noise, “to Sugawara and have him explain what he’s doing here”

Kyoutani scowled, almost growling when the short ginger bound up to him, unafraid. Hinata’s eyes were wide, glazed over with determination. Oikawa thought the scene was adorable and he promptly expressed his feelings with a grin, hands clapping the two men in the back with a little more force than necessary. Kyoutani flinched, knuckles paling as he used all his restraint to not punch Oikawa in his smug face.

Hinata flew forward and hit the wall with a solid _slam_. 

“Oops, sorry Chibi-chan”

Oikawa wasn’t too sorry. 

______________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a kinda quick update for me... I hope you all like it! I'm having way too much fun writing this lmao, I hope I haven't bit off more than I can chew. I don't really plan my stories out too well.  
> FUN FACT: There is an actual yakuza group called Yamaguchi-gumi, and it's the largest modern yakuza group in Japan. This is actually why I called Yamaguchi's clan 'Yamaguchi-kai' instead.


	3. betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa and Iwaizumi meet up for coffee. Yamaguchi leaves for Tokyo and runs into some people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I understand that Haikyuu takes place in Japan and, in accordance with the culture and the vibe I wish to present, I will be referring to the crime groups mentioned as being yakuza. However, I would like to define the yakuza groups of this story as being largely fictional, and mostly inaccurate as compared to the real yakuza of Japan. This is not meant to be a mockery. I have done research on yakuza (as much as my little brain would allow) and try to regularly incorporate the appropriate words and ceremonies. Feel free to correct me if you know better, but understand that this is a loose, fictional representation. Thank you and enjoy reading!
> 
> Additionally, the earthquake that left many of these characters orphans has based on an actual earthquake that occurred in Miyagi in 2011. It remains one of the worst earthquakes of the generation, and I mean no disrespect when I mention it in the context of this story. Consider the characters and events as fictional, though bearing resemblance to actual events in reality.

###  **chapter three**

IWAIZUMI HAJIME HAD MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO THAN MEET A YAKUZA MEMBER FOR A COFFEE DATE. Yet, here he was. Oikawa was running late, as usual, and Iwaizumi had set himself up in a comfy, secluded corner of the ratty eatery. The table was littered with little stab marks from Oikawa’s and his prior meetings, the memories serving as a grim reminder of what _exactly_ their relationship entailed. Iwaizumi didn’t fancy the knives Oikawa carried around with him, much preferring his officially issued gun. 

Iwaizumi took a sip from his cooling drink, sighing into the bitter taste and checking his watch once more.

_Had something happened to that loser?_

Even if something had, why should Iwaizumi care? He was the Police Commissioner of Miyagi for fuck’s sake. Shittykawa was a member of _yakuza_ , a small, nonviolent one, but _yakuza_ regardless. Their relationship wasn’t illicit, nor was it entirely legal. They didn’t exchange information. They didn’t exchange much of anything really— it was hard to get a word in when Oikawa started one of his rants and conspiracy theories. 

_So why did they keep meeting?_

Iwaizumi never bothered to think too hard about the answer, instead, mulling over the thousands of insults he could hurl at Oikawa for being annoying. It brought a bright side to Iwaizumi’s day: making up different ways to make Oikawa pout. He couldn’t pin exactly why the flouncy brunette’s frown made him feel so happy, but he cast it aside as one of the ‘sadistic tendencies’ Chief Inspector Sawamura always teased him about. 

“Iwaizumi!” 

Oikawa had gotten caught in the downpour outside, clothes disgustingly stuck to his body. He felt like a dishrag, barely rung out and ratty-looking enough to blend right into the hole-in-the-wall place he and Iwaizumi always met up at. It was sacrilegious— blending into filth— but Oikawa knew better than to draw attention to himself when he and Iwaizumi were meeting. 

If Iwaizumi’s superiors found out about them he’d lose everything except his life.

Oikawa wasn’t sure he’d get to keep even that if Yamaguchi-kai found out: _kumicho_ Yamaguchi was benevolent, but meeting in secret with a member of the police was a devious moral breach of the brotherhood that bound them. 

Iwaizumi frowned into his cup as a soaked Oikawa took a seat across from him, the brunette hastily grabbing a few napkins in an attempt to dry his hair as best he could. A few stray droplets of rain clung to his eyelashes and blurred the imposing figure of the police officer in front of him. Iwaizumi Hajime was undoubtedly the hottest man Oikawa had ever seen. Broad shoulders, and a strong, penetrating gaze? 

_Sign him the fuck up_. 

But Oikawa wasn’t here to thirst after Iwaizumi, no matter how fun it would be to annoy the shorter man with Oikawa’s cheesy pick-up lines. 

“Kageyama is on a kill-list,” Oikawa muttered loud enough for the two of them to hear, brown eyes darting around suspiciously. He always had his coffee with extra cream, no sugar though because sugar gave him headaches when in tandem with caffeine. Iwaizumi knew that and had ordered for the man, gruffly paying with cash and promising himself to ask for the money back. 

Iwaizumi never asked for the money back. 

“Kill-list?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow carefully, pretending to wipe at his mouth with a napkin. 

“What the hell has that kid gotten himself into?”

Kageyama Tobio had been young when Iwaizumi had first met him: a small, angry-looking boy huddled behind the ever-smirking Oikawa. Kageyama had promptly kicked Iwaizumi in the shin when he’d tried arresting Oikawa, going off on a small tangent about how Oikawa couldn’t go to jail because then he couldn’t teach him how to shoot a gun. Iwaizumi had brought them both into the station then, asking his superior (he was only an officer with no exceptional title back then) to issue a warrant so they could check Oikawa’s residence for illegal arms and bring Kageyama into Child Care Services. 

His superior had been compliant until Oikawa tossed a small, star-shaped patch onto his desk. It was an unsavory orange color, the dark outline of a crow embroidered into it. 

It was that stupid patch that let Oikawa and Kageyama walk free and let Iwaizumi have to suffer through intensive training on how exactly to avoid conflict with _yakuza._

 _Yamaguchi-kai isn’t violent,_ he’d been told, _but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous._

_You’re not to arrest any of their members._

Iwaizumi now knew that the star patch signified Yamaguchi-kai and that he, even as Police Commissioner, couldn’t do _shit_ to touch them. _Y_ _akuza_ weren’t invincible if they were caught engaging in violence (even then, it was hard to capture them without harming innocents), but Yamaguchi-kai was as clean as a whistle.

It was frustrating: watching Oikawa manipulate young-Kageyama into joining the _yakuza._ Iwaizumi had tried to be as present as possible, offer a voice of lawfulness and justice in case Tobio had needed it.

Oikawa had won though, and Kageyama had progressed through the _yakuza_ ranks with a scary inclination towards guns and vigilantism. 

Oikawa watched Iwaizumi brood silently across from him, eye fluttering back and forth between the man’s tanned brow, tight with tension, and the teeth that were clamping down on his bottom lip. Oikawa reached out and slapped Iwaizumi’s jaw lightly, snickering at the scowl that presented itself. 

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep doing that, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi breathed heavily, unknotting his eyebrows and finishing off the remaining dregs of coffee. 

“Is he in danger? Like actual danger? The kill-list isn’t just a ploy to make you all nervous, right?” 

A moment of silence passed between them, Iwaizumi’s chest constricting painfully when Oikawa looked at him woefully, any prior lightheartedness gone from his brown eyes.

“Yeah, at least Kuroo-gumi seems to think so,” Oikawa raised a hand to stop Iwaizumi as he opened his mouth to question what exactly Kuroo-gumi was.

“They’re another group that, uh, shares our interests—oh, don’t give me that look Iwa-chan!” 

Iwaizumi snorted, covering his laugh with an ill-executed cough. Oikawa smiled at that, a crooked jerk of his lips that was gone the next second as he recounted how the meeting between _wakagashira_ Suga and the little shrimp from Kuroo-gumi had gone. Sugawara hadn’t stood a chance against the fiery little thing from Tokyo, about ready to scoop the kid up into a hug if there hadn’t been more important things to do following the meeting: like notifying their _kumicho_ that he was in danger. It was frightening how convincing the short (25-year old) kid could be.

“They gave us the information in exchange for offering protection to one of their own,” Oikawa stirred his coffee lacklusterly, starting to shiver as the cold set into his damp clothes, “This little shrimp named Hinata”

“Where are you keeping him?” Iwaizumi casually removed his coat, slinging it on a chair just out of Oikawa’s reach. 

“We figured it would be best to let the police have _some_ work to do, so we’ve decided on Karasuno: it’s neutral ground. Besides, he came with bodyguards” Oikawa smirked, leaning past Iwaizumi’s crossed arms and snagging the coat for himself. The sleeves were a little short on Oikawa’s long arms, but he sunk into the fabric willfully and let himself reheat slowly. 

“Bodyguards? So, the shrimp is important?” Iwaizumi rolled his sleeves up a quarter of his arm, catching the eye of the short barista over by the counter. She seemed to have better things to do, blonde hair piled high on her head in a messy bun and her hand’s clasping a sketch pad. Her fingers moved quickly across the page, taking advantage of the infinite lack of customers in the shop. 

Iwaizumi broke off their shared gaze first, missing the nervous smile that crawled onto the barista’s face. 

“ _Shrimpy-chan_ outranks me technically, so, yeah,” Oikawa huffed in petulant annoyance, “He’s important”

“Technically he and Kageyama share their rank in parallel across groups,” Oikawa mused suddenly, foot accidentally knocking against Iwaizumi’s shin as the grumpy man cast his gaze over to the pretty barista again. 

“They’re going to be under the same protection” 

Iwaizumi laughed at that, not covering his mouth and letting it ring free like he always did. Oikawa reveled in the little squint Iwaizumi’s eyes did when he laughed, a sliver of the iris poking through and always managing to pin Oikawa to the spot. _How?_ Oikawa didn’t question it. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, leaning back into his chair, relaxed. 

“You’re making Kageyama interact with humans other than you and Sugawara-san?” 

Oikawa giggled into his cup, the dark circles under his eyes suddenly very apparent to Iwaizumi. _Of course, the idiot is tired._ Of all the people Iwaizumi knew, and he knew a lot of people, Oikawa was the one who worked the hardest while simultaneously not giving a shit about his health. 

_Damn Shittykawa._

“Tobio-chan stopped talking to me a while back,” Oikawa admitted, rubbing gently at his tired eyes, “but, yeah, I’m excited to see how long it takes for him and shrimpy to kill each other”

Iwaizumi huffed, a small smile flitting on and off his lips as he set his cup down on the table. Kageyama was hard to get along with, even as a kid, so putting him on house arrest with a guy who was even more chatty than Oikawa was something Iwaizumi would pay good money to see. Well, if he had good money he would. Not really, actually, it was just a figure of speech, and Iwaizumi was broke. The price the government paid for protecting civilians was abnormally low. 

He made a decent enough salary, but these meetings with Oikawa (entirely on Iwaizumi’s tab) leeched what little bonus the Commissioner made. 

“Hey,” Oikawa recaptured Iwaizumi’s attention easily, snapping his fingers lazily inches from his face, “Who’s in charge of Karasuno? I don’t want them to get into any serious business with the cops”

Iwaizumi smirked, taking in Shittykawa’s signature look: the I-don’t-care-but-I-actually-care-too-much face he made was unbearably cute sometimes. 

“Karasuno?” Iwaizumi mused, folding his arms across his chest, “That would be my friend Sawamura Daichi. He’s a nice guy, but tell Tobio-kun and the Shrimp to stay out of trouble”

“Sawamura? I’ve heard of him,” Oikawa harrumphed, fuzzy memory of a stocky man with an intimidating face floating around his head. From what Oikawa could remember, Sawamura Daichi wasn’t intimidating the same way Iwaizumi was, his face carrying a more _I’m disappointed_ look than Iwa’s _I’m angry_. It could still be scary as hell though, not that Oikawa would let his fear show on his face.

“It’s weird that it was just Kageyama and that Kuroo-gumi kid who were targeted,” Iwaizumi mulled sullenly, checking his watch habitually as his free time passed all too quickly. 

Oikawa felt his mouth run dry, uncertain if he should out that it wasn’t _just_ Kageyama and Hinata, but also _Yamaguchi Tadashi_ himself who was being targeted with the kill-list. Iwaizumi was like an older, bossy brother to Tobio (maybe even a father, but Oikawa wasn’t eager to be hit for pointing out Iwaizumi’s new gray hairs), so he didn’t mind informing the Commissioner of the danger that the younger nuisance was in, but _kumicho_ Yamaguchi…? 

That would be a serious breach of his own ethics, wouldn’t it?

Oikawa opened his mouth to say something, shutting it immediately before he could realize his mistake. Oikawa _never_ shut up, and Iwaizumi caught onto his uncomfortable silence with razor-sharp attention. 

“There are more people on the kill-list?”

“I’m leaving,” Oikawa stood up suddenly, rushing out of the shop only to freeze in the middle of the street as the wind whipped at his jacket - _no-_ it wasn’t his, it was Iwaizumi’s. Oikawa had grabbed his trash on the way out, the cup crinkling noisily in his hand as he tossed it into a nearby bin, waiting for Iwiazumi to exit the coffee shop to reclaim his jacket. 

“Now you’re a thief, Crappykawa?”

“Shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa frowned, reluctantly pulling the jacket off from his arms and offering it to the shorter man. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, pushing Oikawa’s arm away, “It’s fine. Keep it or you’ll die from hypothermia, idiot—”

Oikawa sniffed, pulling the material back around him, stupidly happy.

“—but tell me about the others on the kill-list.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whined, his quick mind jumping to find the loophole in his fortuitous morality. He would never disclose Yamaguchi’s identity, not when the mystery of Yamaguchi-kai’s _kumicho_ was one of their greatest advantages. No, he wouldn’t do that, but there was no harm in placating Iwaizumi. 

The man was stressed enough with Kageyama being in danger, he didn’t need to worry about gang wars under his jurisdiction on top of that. 

“There’s only one more from our clan on the kill list, and he’s being sent to Tokyo,” Oikawa speedily disclosed, “He’s not in your jurisdiction, so don’t get too worried, okay?” His voice was low and hissing as it matched the tempo of the now-drizzling rain. 

“Now, stop following me Iwa-chan or somebody will think you’re in love with me”

“Fuck off, Assikawa”

Oikawa ducked the lazy hand that flew through the air to swat at his head, grinning in victory when Iwaizumi flushed heavily before scowling and walking away in the opposite direction. 

_Idiot_. 

### »»————- ♡ -————««

YAMAGUCHI TADASHI WAS NOT INTIMIDATING TO LOOK AT. This, he was painfully aware of. Before the tsunami, Yamaguchi had been enrolled in a public school where kids liked to pick on him for his general scrawniness and freckled face. The taunting never surpassed general elementary bullying— a shove here and a snide remark there. A more mature individual would have forgotten that phase in their life and moved on, no grudges held.

Mature as Yamaguchi was, he very much had grudges. Not against the children who’d bullied him in particular, but against himself. Against his gangly limbs. Against his freckled (and pimply during his teen years) features. He spent the better half of his teen years locked in his room and buried under the covers, half-wishing for death and half-wishing for some kind of hero to end the torturous cycle of self-hate he spun through continuously. 

Then, his parents died when he was fifteen and the cycle worsened significantly.

On his seventeenth birthday, Yamaguchi realized that he needed to change. He would be thrust into his position as _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai the following year, and he was nowhere near the leader he needed to be. With a little help from his mentor and guardian, Shimada Makoto, and his good friend Sugawara Koushi, Yamaguchi managed to pull himself out of his rut and reversed his personality in a year. 

It was a drastic, frightening change for those who knew him, but not many did. 

After the death of his parents, Yamaguchi had been whisked away from the public eye and placed under strict, guarded surveillance. It seemed like history was intent on repeating itself now, as Yamaguchi was once more whisked away for his own protection. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how your name ended up on that list,” Sugawara apologized for the hundredth time, “I should’ve been more careful to preserve your identity—”

“— _It’s fine_ , Koushi-san,” Yamaguchi clasped the fair-haired man’s shoulder with a strong hand, “Please don’t blame yourself. It’s impossible to completely erase someone’s existence.”

Sugawara smiled wanly and Yamaguchi offered his own smile in response, drawing the man in for a hug. Sugawara had stood at his side for as long as Yamaguchi could remember, the _wakagashira_ stepping into Yamaguchi-kai after his mother had passed to take up the space she’d left in their secretarial workforce. Women had never had much importance in _yakuza_ , aside from small, administrative positions, but Sugawara had been adamant on changing that in the name of his mother. He grew through the ranks, not swiftly and uncontrolled the way Kageyama had, but slowly and deliberately, without drawing much attention to himself. Along the way, he dispersed more and more roles of importance to people who deserved it— regardless of their sex.

When Yamaguchi had been made _kumicho_ , the appointment of _wakagashira_ had been an unexpected and welcome surprise for Sugawara. Yamaguchi was aware of Sugawara’s agenda and held the man to his strong principles and faultless diplomacy. 

They made a good team. 

“We have an escort for you to Tokyo,” Sugawara mumbled into Yamaguchi’s ear, and Yamaguchi hummed in response, making it appear as if the two were sharing an intimate moment and not the details of Yamaguchi’s protection plan. 

“Do I know him?”

“Unfortunately,” Came Sugawara’s clipped response.

Yamaguchi chuckled, pulling back from the hug with an honest look. 

“He’s not that bad, Koushi-san.”

“He’s a sleaze bag with about as much dependability as a dollar-store ladder.”

Yamaguchi laughed again, drawing a few stares on the train platform. Their gazes slid from his face quickly, unbothered by his plain features as a few lingered on his counterpart. Yamaguchi did not stand out the way Sugawara and Oikawa did— he was not visually deserving of a role as the protagonist in any story. Truth be told, he wouldn’t even make the cut as a comic-relief sidekick. However, as fate had willed it Yamaguchi _did_ have power and he would be the protagonist of his story whether people approved or not. 

“Will Terushima meet me at Tokyo station, then?” 

Suga nodded in assent, stepping closer once more. His fingers wrapped around Yamaguchi’s shirt collar, fiddling with it as he muttered low enough for only Yamaguchi to hear. 

“They don’t know who you are, Yamaguchi, and I don’t expect them to treat you properl—”

“—and I can use that to our advantage,” Yamaguchi promised, a reserved smirk on his face. 

“Shimada-san and I have decided that I should pretend I’m a close, personal secretary to the _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai,” Yamaguchi let his nose press against Sugawara’s cheek in a mock kiss as he caught a stranger’s gaze. The man standing on the platform was stocky, with short brown hair and analytical eyes. He stood sternly, shoulders rolled back and one hand hovering by his right pocket.

_Police._

“Don’t worry about me, Koushi-san.”

Sugawara pulled back with a grim smile and nodded, hair damp and shining lowly in the train station’s lights. It had rained on their way to the station.

“Be safe, Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi hummed and nodded, tossing a little, shy smile in the direction of the suspicious police officer. The man looked surprised at being caught, sheepishly making his way over to where Yamaguchi and Sugawara were standing. His hand left his right side and Yamaguchi let his gaze flicker to Sugawara’s face to see if he’d caught on the fact that the officer was armed and had been staring more than was safe. 

Sugawara’s eyes were stuck on the approaching figure, raking the man’s large figure and letting the image settle on his tongue sweetly. 

Yamaguchi smiled. _Sugawara would take care of this._

“Sorry, I swear I’m not a creep,” The police officer introduced himself with, “I’m Sawamura Daichi.”

“Koushi is used to men staring, don’t worry,” Yamaguchi added his two cents, giggling automatically when Sugawara flushed, scrabbling for the poise he wanted to present. 

Sawamura just gaped, blushing and looking at the silver-haired man shyly. 

“Koushi? That’s your name? It’s very pretty.”

“Sugawara Koushi,” Sugawara offered his hand and Sawamura shook it firmly. One’s hand was thick-fingered and calloused, the other slim and smooth. Yamaguchi knew which one had seen more destruction and the irony was palpable. 

“You can call me whatever you’d like. It’s not often I get a handsome officer as a creep.”

“I’m not a creep,” Sawamura laughed, embarrassed, “but how did you know I was a police officer?”

“Azumane Asahi,” Sugawara offered as an explanation.

“We’re old friends and he never shuts up about you and Nishinoya. I knew your name seemed familiar and I just placed it.”

Sawamura laughed again and Yamaguchi felt his stomach jerk with jealousy. The man in front of him was a Chief Inspector (this he knew from the numerous tabs he kept on people within the prefecture) and he oversaw a multitude of operations and divisions within Karasuno. The power and responsibility he possessed was stifling, yet the man could laugh as easily as he could breathe. Yamaguchi wondered if attraction had that power: to lower one’s defenses and rid stress. 

Certainly, with every second Sawamura and Sugawara spent with each other, the Chief Inspector seemed closer to spilling prefectural secrets and locking himself into handcuffs willingly. The latter being an unwelcome picturization.

“Asahi and Noya are a strange combination, but they are an excellent patrol team.”

Sawamura was an excellent leader: stern, commanding, yet caring.

And also oblivious. 

Nishinoya Yuu, though he was a Karasuno police officer, wasn’t a straight-laced cop (though he never claimed to be). Sugawara had bought the hyperactive cop over when he was just a rookie, dragging Azumane with him. Noya had been looking for thrill and adventure— the _yakuza_ had promised just that. _Hook. Line._

_Sinker._

Azumane hadn’t stood a chance, trapped between working for the Yamaguchi-kai or ratting out on his partner (both on the force and at home). Yamaguchi had a beautiful motorcycle made and sent to them as a wedding gift, locking the relationship in iron. They weren’t rogue cops, not in the least. Azumane and Nishinoya’s function was simple and efficient: patrol Yamaguchi-kai’s borders and keep other smaller gangs and lesser _yakuza_ in their place. Their function had rewarded them handsomely with countless promotions and bonuses for every criminal they had put behind bars. 

Honestly, the deal was a no-brainer and Sugawara’s planning and patience had paid off in the endeavor. It had earned him his position as _wakagashira_. 

“I’ve got to get going, Koushi,” Yamaguchi smiled kindly at his right-hand man, leaning in for another hug before waving shyly at Sawamura. He sometimes liked pretending to be mousy and submissive— it had given him access to the ugliest parts of men so he could uproot them. Sometimes though, Yamaguchi wished he could just be himself and witness attraction from that alone like how Sugawara could. 

“Sawamura-san,” Yamaguchi tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes open wide, innocently.

“Could you help Koushi get a cab back home?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

 _Hook. Line. Sinker._ Yamaguchi gave it a week before Sugawara could manipulate the already-soft officer. The two men shared a meaningful look, Sugawara looping his arm through Sawamura’s much thicker one with a plastic smile. 

“Be safe,” Sugawara’s gaze was stern, face smiling but eyes glittering darkly. 

“No promises,” Yamaguchi winked cheekily, making his way into the compartment to the sound of Sawamura’s barking laughter. 

The doors shut behind him and Yamaguchi let his smile drop swiftly. The compartment was empty, a strange occurrence but it was early in the morning, and he let himself lean against the wall and exhale roughly. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,”

Yamaguchi’s eyes flew open but he didn’t move, eyes sliding to make out a small, shadowy figure curled up into a ball on one of the many empty seats. _Oh, so not empty then._ The silence had seemed too good to be true. He kept his face neutral, waiting for the exposure of light that would be granted to him as the sunlight filtered through the windows as the train started to move. He hadn’t heard his name from a stranger’s lips in a long time and it sounded strange and strained.

The sun betrayed the stranger.

Red sweatshirt, loose pants. Badly-bleached hair with dark roots. Large, slanted eyes that looked like a—

“—Kozume Kenma,” Yamaguchi finally responded, not denying nor accepting the man’s claim over his name.

Kozume raised an eyebrow, unfolding from his perch and pacing over to where Yamaguchi was leaning. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he repeated, “Born November 10th, 1996.”

Yamaguchi felt his palms begin to sweat, but he didn’t change his position, smiling neutrally as had learned. He didn’t have Sugawara’s or Oikawa’s ability to influence others with sugary words and batting eyelashes, but Yamaguchi had a feeling Kozume wasn’t sensitive to those briberies in the first place. Yamaguchi had his plainness as an advantage: the simple permeating belief that he would _never_ be a protagonist allowed most to overlook him.

But not Kozume. 

“Born November 10th, 1996,” Kozume repeated, “And dead, March 11th, 2011”

“Unfortunate,” Yamaguchi replied with a frown, “To die at such a young age.”

“Indeed,” Kozume complied, eyes still trained on Yamaguchi’s own. 

“It’s even more unfortunate,” He continued, “Because his parents died”

Yamaguchi stiffened, too late realizing that the minuscule movement had confirmed the other man’s suspicions. He gave up the smile, drawing himself up and staring down at Kozume with just as much tension as the other was providing. 

“And he did not. He outlived them.”

“That’s not what the government’s documents say.”

“You and I both know documents can be forged.”

“What do you want, Kozume-san?” Yamaguchi fingered the strap of his duffel, lips pursing into an attempt at neutrality, his inexperience with outsiders paving the way to an ugly grimace. 

“I want to know why the _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai is pretending to be dead.”

“Safety,” Yamaguchi shrugged, parroting what Shimada-san had rehearsed with him, “My power lies in the lapse of my true identity and I will preserve it at any cost.”

Kozume stilled, eyes boring deep into Yamaguchi’s own, and the _kumicho_ bared it all for the other to see. He understood how these trades worked. Kozume played not with money, but with minds, and Yamaguchi would be an excellent study. 

Yamaguchi saw Kozume weigh his options, hiding a smile when the decision shone in the man’s feline gaze. 

“Your fake identity?”

“Sato Tadashi, a mechanic in Sendai who engages in clerical tasks for Yamaguchi-kai.”

Kozume hummed. 

“You’re too honest.”

“People like us don’t expect honesty,” Yamaguchi confessed, allowing a smile in return for Kozume’s own interested gaze, “It’s my favorite weapon.”

 _Silence._ Yamaguchi reveled in it, taking a seat and looking up at Kozume as he contemplated further. 

“They’ll treat you like shit,” Kozume finally spoke, the agreement to keep Yamaguchi’s identity a secret implicit but loud. 

“I know who Kuroo assigned to you and they don’t respond to _grunts_. They’re status-crazed and power-hungry.”

“They sound lovely. I’ll do my best to not crush their spirits.”

More silence. 

“Sato Tadashi,” Kozume pushed his hood back, leaning one hand on the head of Yamaguchi’s chair and pressing forward until their noses bumped. 

“You interest me, and I’ll let Yamaguchi live peacefully in death on one condition.”

It was Yamaguchi’s turn to raise his eyebrows, steely gaze meeting Kozume’s fluorescence with its own metal. 

“The _second_ ,” Kozume hissed, words a low, threatening whisper, “you think you can use my benevolence to bring _harm_ to Kuroo-gumi is the second Yamaguchi Tadashi rises from the dead and Sato Tadashi ceases to exist.” 

“You have no love for Kuroo-gumi,” Yamaguchi called Kozume’s bluff without fear, pushing the man back and standing up. 

“Your concern lies in a select few individuals.”

Kozume hand curled into fists, unable to disprove Tadashi. 

“I promise not to harm Kuroo Tetsurou,” Yamaguchi spoke a little softer this time, sweeter as he let his eyes linger on Kozume’s downturned face. 

“It’s not just him,” Kozume scoffed angrily. 

“I’ll need names.”

“I won’t let you harm the rest. I’m not heartless.”

“Not harm,” Yamaguchi agreed, “I don’t _harm_.”

“Then what do you do _kumicho_?”

“I control,” Yamaguchi spoke, “I use.”

Kozume’s gaze faltered, his voice almost too low to pick up. He knew what inviting a rival _kumicho_ into their territory had entailed, but he’d kept Yamaguchi’s true identity quiet from even Kuroo. Now, he was paying the price for his dangerous curiosity. Though _yakuza_ were bloodless (the true _yakuza_ anyway), they were not void of ambition. To uncover the secrets of Kuroo-gumi was to uncover the secrets of Tokyo— then, Japan.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” He rushed out, livid at being outplayed. 

“Bokuto Kotarou, Morisuke Yaku, Taketora Yamamoto, Lev Haiba and Hinata Shoyo.”

“More than I expected. High school friends, I suspect. You don’t seem the sociable-type Kozume-san.”

“There are more, but you won’t meet them."

Kozume didn’t give Yamaguchi the pleasure of rising to the bite. 

The compartment doors slid open and Kozume let the rushing crowd force him out onto the platform. A small nod was all he offered in return for Yamaguchi’s nod, the green-haired _kumicho_ blending into the crowd as effortlessly as graffiti in an alleyway. Kozume had been overconfident enough to underestimate the perception of Yamaguchi Tadashi: he could only hope those in Tokyo wouldn’t make the same mistake. 

______________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another update :D I'm really liking how this is turning out so far and I hope you all are as well! Thank you for the kudos, it genuinely means a lot when I see them! I apologize if anything is unexplained/overly-complex. If there any glaring problems, feel free to ask me questions to clear up any confusion.


	4. commence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futakuchi and Aone arrive in Karasuno. Yamaguchi arrives in Tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I understand that Haikyuu takes place in Japan and, in accordance with the culture and the vibe I wish to present, I will be referring to the crime groups mentioned as being yakuza. However, I would like to define the yakuza groups of this story as being largely fictional, and mostly inaccurate as compared to the real yakuza of Japan. This is not meant to be a mockery. I have done research on yakuza (as much as my little brain would allow) and try to regularly incorporate the appropriate words and ceremonies. Feel free to correct me if you know better, but understand that this is a loose, fictional representation. Thank you and enjoy reading!
> 
> Additionally, the earthquake that left many of these characters orphans was based on an actual earthquake that occurred in Miyagi in 2011. It remains one of the worst earthquakes of the generation, and I mean no disrespect when I mention it in the context of this story. Consider the characters and events as fictional, though bearing resemblance to actual events in reality.

###  **chapter four - commence**

FUTAKUCHI NUDGED AONE’S LEG, SMILING WHEN THE STONE-FACED MAN FINALLY LOOKED UP. Traveling via the train wasn’t something Aone liked— people had a tendency to avoid the giant, intimidating man and this left the seats around him empty. Aone had prepared for the journey with copious amounts of deodorant, afraid body odor was the source of people’s avoidance. Futakuchi didn’t have the heart to tell Aone that people avoided him because of his unchangeable and scary face. So, he’d settled for occupying Aone’s mind with several trivial jokes and an unenthusiastically-received game of ‘I Spy’. 

After a few, unsuccessful rounds of the game with Aone, Futakuchi acknowledged the man’s reluctance and settled for discussing their assignment. They’d volunteered to protect Hinata and _Kageyama Tobio_ (from Yamaguchi-kai), but Karasuno wasn’t a town Futakuchi was too familiar with. He’d spent the better half of the night before studying the city’s layout and the significant population, courtesy of Kuroo-gumi’s _saiko-komon_ Tsukishima Kei. The arrogant-seeming man was difficult to deal with, but he did his work thoroughly and well, and he seemed to be familiar with Karasuno and its layout. 

“We’ll be staying in the room on the floor above Hinata and Kageyama,” Futakuchi explained, whispering. Normally, he’d take more care to keep quiet, but the wide berth everyone was giving Aone brought with it several advantages. 

“And we have one of ours on the ground floor. He is close to the landlord.”

“I thought Karasuno was neutral ground?” Aone frowned, lips pursing in confusion. If he had eyebrows they would have been drawn tight together. Aone didn’t have eyebrows. 

Futakuchi had learned not to question the characteristic and learned how to read the subtle changes in Aone’s face over the years. It was, in part, what made them a deadly team. Both Futakuchi and Aone were intimidating, the former with a barbed tongue and the latter with a presence like a fortress. 

“No ground is really neutral between clans,” Futakuchi laughed humorlessly, tapping on his phone to bring up the population profiles he’d scoured.

“Neutral just means it hasn’t been claimed yet. We’ve had men in Karasuno for years waiting for a slip up from Yamaguchi-kai.”

“They haven’t slipped up, yet, but they will,” Aone affirmed, taking Futakuchi’s phone so he could squint a little closer at the screen. 

“That’s Ukai Keshin,” Futakuchi explained as Aone nodded, “He was a friend of the former _kumicho_ : Kuroo-san’s father. He runs our intel in Karasuno and he co-owns the apartment we’ll be staying in.”

“Who’s the small man next to him?”

“Takeda Ittetsu: he’s unaffiliated and not very useful. He’s the co-owner of the apartment with Ukai-san,” Futakuchi waved his hand, dusting off any possible importance the glasses-wearing, older man could have. He certainly didn’t seem very imposing, more the opposite than anything, and Futakuchi didn’t see him as being a major threat. 

“He’s dangerous.”

It was Futakuchi’s turn to frown, his eyes flashing to the serious look on Aone’s face. 

“Takeda Ittetsu,” Aone pointed a thick finger at Futakuchi’s screen accusingly, the closest passenger flinching away when his voice raised slightly. 

“Kozume-san told me to watch him.”

“Did Kozume-san tell you why he was dangerous?”

Aone shook his head no in response to Futakuchi and the brown-haired _wakagashira-hosa_ sighed in annoyance. Kozume Kenma was usually good at explaining his decisions and opinions, but there was always the chance that he would think his verdict was obvious in logic and not explain anything. Unfortunately for Kozume, not everyone possessed his keen analytical skills. Futakuchi was gifted at finding other’s weaknesses, but aside from that talent his analysis was very limited and he had difficulty focusing on the bigger picture. Aone was even less analytical, more focused on the present situation, and using intimidation to guarantee outcomes in their favor. 

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Futakuchi promised Aone, patting his leg reassuringly before swiping to the next of the long list of priority files they had to memorize.

Aone, though he was usually cast aside as slow due to his quiet demeanor and hulking personality, was good at memorizing faces and weaknesses. It could sometimes be cruel, to work away at a person’s insecurities without their awareness, but it was always for the greater good of man. And so, Futakuchi and Aone would work in silence, defending Kuroo-gumi against external attacks with scary precision. All their foes would see was a widespread iron wall of impenetrable intel and knowledge, Futakuchi’s and Aone’s muscle adding to the image, and their resolve would crumble before they could recognize it. 

It was what made them effective and ruthless. It was what made them _wakagashira-hosa_ of Kuroo-gumi.

“ _Doors opening._ ”

Futakuchi watched, pleased, as the crowd on the platform parted ways when they saw him headed their way. None were steering clear of _him_ , but the hulking figure of Aone Takanobu behind Futakuchi. It was a nice enough game though, to pretend it was Futakuchi himself that the people feared. He could afford to play pretend— he didn’t have the same insecurities and struggles that Aone did and the facade could be removed at a moment's notice if he wished. 

After a quick flash of his pocket knife and a few choice words, Futakuchi procured a taxi for him and Aone. They had no luggage since they’d been guaranteed of everything being taken for them by Ukai, but Futakuchi had worn his comfiest clothes in case the hospitality of Ukai Keishin didn’t extend past a warm bed and mandatory meals. The taxi driver stuck to his promise, blaring the radio the whole drive from Sendai to Karasuno. The songs came through staticky and were mediocre at best, but it gave Futakuchi the needed noise cover to review a few more profiles with Aone. 

“Sawamura Daichi,” Futakuchi let Aone grab his phone once more, nose pressed tightly to the screen as he took in the pixelated features of the Chief Inspector. He didn’t look all too intimidating in the way Futakuchi and Aone were used to— the stern cop was very clean cut and serious. Futakuchi and Aone were far more used to dealing with scruffy gangsters.

“All the units in Karasuno report to him. He’s the reason it’s neutral— hard to get him to slip up so one of us ( _yakuza_ ) can grab Karasuno.”

Sawamura Daichi, in all his competency, was a curveball.

“No weaknesses?” Aone murmured with a frown, trying to size up Sawamura through the many photographs they had of him. The man seemed to be presented with awards every other year— he was _damn_ good at his job and Futakuchi cursed his _kumicho_ for agreeing on Karasuno as the best neutral ground. While it was true it would offer more protection from rogue _yakuza_ groups, it also rendered them with little to no defensive measures. Any weapons or operations they ran would be exposed in no time with Sawamura as the head of the police. 

“Can we slip him up?” 

Futakuchi laughed to himself at Aone’s determination, the large man’s mind already running with various ways to sneak things past Sawamura Daichi and his patrolling excellence.

“Not us. Yamaguchi-kai said they’d cover him.”

Aone hummed in response, discontent. Futakuchi let him brood for a few minutes, swiping further on the phone to point out more significant profiles. He’d already gone and memorized all of them— including the unnecessary grunts, but Aone needed to be aware of who to avoid and keep an eye out for. This mission would be, primarily, to protect Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio, but there was a more subtle mission behind all this— the status of Karasuno itself could depend on how Futakuchi and Aone handled this situation. 

_Oikawa Tooru: shateigashira of Aoba-Johsai under Yamaguchi-kai._

Futakuchi reminded Aone of the man’s debilitating pride. 

_Sugawara Koushi: wakagashira of Yamaguchi-kai._

Sugawara was the second-hand man and, apparently, quite emotional and prone to acting irrationally if the situation warranted it. _Weaknesses?_ Women and children. It was chivalrous, really. 

“Oh,” Futakuchi paused over a profile, “and if shit really hits the fan, we have to watch out for this guy.”

_Iwaizumi Hajime._

“The Commissioner of Miyagi— he’s ruthless and unafraid. He has no known weaknesses but has a brief history with Yamaguchi-kai. Namely, Aoba-Johsai’s _shateigashira_ Oikawa Tooru.”

“We can use that.” 

“Yes, we can,” Futakuchi grinned, wincing when Aone held his fingers a little too tightly in his excitement to look closer at the phone. Futakuchi really needed to convince Aone to get his own device or his poor hand would be too bruised to help anyone by the end of their journey. 

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Futakuchi laughed it off, grimacing and massaging when Aone looked away. For all his might and willingness to fight, Aone didn’t like hurting people— specifically, his friends. It was a shame he excelled at that too, and the many random bruises scattered across Futakuchi’s body from Aone’s clumsiness stood testament to the fact. 

The music on the radio cut off abruptly and both Futakuchi and Aone’s focus sharpened, the pain in Futakuchi’s fingers ebbing to a dull throb as he watched their taxi pull up in front of a small, dusty-looking inn. 

“Eight-Span Inn, sirs.”

Futakuchi threw a thankless wad of cash at the driver, checking to see if there were any loiterers in front of the inn before stepping out. Aone followed him, not as rude because he thanked the driver quietly. Instead of gratuitous, the words sounded menacing and the driver peeled out of the street as if the devil was at his hind wheels. 

“We need to work on toning down your presence, Takanobu.” 

“What?”

“Nothing, come on.”

Futakuchi’s hands slid into his pockets, brown eyes surveying the scene as Aone pushed forward, an unstoppable force. His friend’s white hair glistened in the streetlights mutely, hulking shoulders barely squeezing through the narrow doors as they entered the inn’s lobby. 

“Welcome to Eight-Span Inn, I’m Ukai Keishin. How may I help you, gentlemen?”

They heard the voice, the man who spoke still hidden around the corner in what appeared to be a small office.

Futakuchi saw Aone’s arms stiffen and he placed a gentle hand on the man’s forearm, letting a smile spread across his features as he leaned on the front desk. There was a cute, clay crow sitting on the counter, an ashtray cut out of its back. A cigarette butt smoldered amongst its wings, stray business cards shoved and spread in its beak. Futakuchi noted a construction company, automobile service, painting service, and taxi service’s contacts listed amongst the cards. 

“Futakuchi Kenji and Aone Takanobu. We’d like to rent a room please.”

“One room?” 

A man emerged from the office, blond-dyed hair pushed back with a black headband. A stray, unlit cigarette was perched between his lips, teeth clamped down on the end. Ukai Keishin tucked a pencil behind his ear and wiped his hands on his pant legs before walking over to the front counter and turning the computer on. 

“Two beds,” Futakuchi smiled pleasantly and confirmed their request, thumb rubbing small circles on the warm skin of Aone’s forearm. He wasn’t sure who he was soothing— Aone or himself, but Aone didn’t protest and so Futakuchi continued the motion. 

“Any specific accommodations you’re looking for?”

Ukai raised his gaze, brown eyes deep and meaningful. Two piercing glistened in his left ear and Futakuchi smiled wider, recognizing the code. 

“Facing the east, please. We’d like to see the sun.”

Ukai’s eyes flashed and Aone relaxed next to Futakuchi. 

“Hmm, good,” Ukai straightened up, grinning rakishly as he lit his cigarette and took a deep drag from it. 

“You’ll both do just fine.”

“Excuse me?” Futakuchi frowned, not quite understanding what Ukai was going on about. _The assignment?_ Was Ukai expressing his confidence in their competency to guard Hinata and Kageyama? _That seems unnecessary._

“Talk freely, Kenji-kun,” Ukai waved his hand freely about the air, “I built this place with my grandfather. I’d know if there was anything kooky about it. You don’t have to worry about bugs and spies here.”

“I’ll determine the validity of that for myself, thanks.”

Aone nodded firmly in agreement with Futakuchi. 

Ukai blew out a puff of smoke with resignation, “Suit yourself but don’t get too cocky. This is still my establishment and I’m your temporary head while you’re in Karasuno.”

Futakuchi stiffened. This hadn’t been mentioned during their briefing. 

“Ukai-san! You didn’t tell me my _senpais_ were here!”

There was a blur of red and then— _Hinata Shoyo_.

“Hi, Futakuchi-san!” Hinata beamed all teeth and gums, before turning to Aone with a far more serious look.

“Aone-san.” 

Aone nodded silently in greetings and both he and the red-headed tornado bowed low. Futakuchi would never be able to grasp Aone’s affection for the _wakagashira-hosa_ , but it wasn’t a concept he needed to grasp. His job was to ensure his safety, and he and Aone would see it through even if it killed them. 

“Weirdo kid.”

Futakuchi heard Ukai mumble about Hinata and he laughed in agreement. Hinata Shoyo was an amicable enigma to most members of Kuroo-gumi. His childlike enthusiasm was invigorating in desperate times and annoying when there was nothing else to be concerned about. If Futakuchi was being truthful, he wasn’t completely sure how the short man had gotten his position as _wakagashira-hosa_ , but he wasn’t about to doubt Bokuto-san’s decision. Bokuto Kotaro was many things, but open-to-critic was, unfortunately, not one of his characteristics. 

It wasn’t like Hinata was _talentless_ , if anything, he was the opposite. He was so full of natural talent he overflowed with it and it could be stifling. Hinata Shoyo’s greatest weakness, as identified by Aone one night, lay in his inexperience— plain and simple. 

Futakuchi shared a look with Aone as Hinata rambled about his adventure to Karasuno (it shouldn’t have been exciting, but everything excited Hinata Shoyo). If Hinata was this excited and unchanged, the interaction with a member from another clan couldn’t have gone badly.

 _Kageyama Tobio,_ Futakuchi thought, _I wonder where he is._

“ _Oi,_ dumbass!”

A streak of black shot by Futakuchi and Aone once more, this time the blur not stopping until it caught up to Hinata. A large hand reached out, clasping Hinata on the shoulder in a good-natured— headlock. _Headlock?_ The man, the news addition to their lobby-troupe, had black hair that settled in angry points framing his eyes, which were so furious they made Futakuchi doubt the color of hellfire. His muscles were lean but strong, and they flexed as he wrapped a forearm around Hinata’s throat with no second thought.

Futakuchi stood still for a whole second, unmoving, and Aone mimicked him. It took Hinata’s face going from pink from overexertion to purple from oxygen-depletion to snap him out of his shock. From somewhere over his shoulder, Ukai’s booming laugh echoed off the lobby walls. 

“Grab him,” Futakuchi pointed out the man suffocating their fellow _wakagashira-hosa_ and Aone used his hands to pry Hinata and the stranger apart. Hinata laughed maniacally when freed, pointing when Futakuchi and Aone teamed up to hold the raging, blue-eyed individual back.

“I won, _Bakageyama_!”

“You had a head start, dumbass! It doesn’t count.”

The name _‘Bakageyama’_ sounded awfully familiar and Futakuchi let his guard drop, regretting it when the man tore himself from Futakuchi’s grasp. Aone’s iron hands settled around the man’s left bicep, but it wasn’t enough to prevent ‘Bakageyama’ from lurching forward and grabbing a fistful of Hinata’s hair. 

“ _Ow, ow, ow,_ ” Hinata hissed, two hands wrapping around the man’s wrist in an attempt to yank his much larger hand out of his hair. 

“Kageyama, let go!”

Aone tugged on the man’s arm and the motion, combined with Hinata’s whining command, made him release his hold and go limp in Aone’s arms. Futakuchi watched the situation like he was looking through a snowglobe, tempted to grab the situation and shake it up a little so the snowflakes wouldn’t settle. _Kageyama Tobio_ , Futakuchi hummed with amusement, _you’re not immune to Hinata, then._

He had heard rumors, mainly murmured whispers during their briefing, of Kageyama Tobio and his icy heart. The icy heart they’d heard about, much to Futakuchi’s delight, was nowhere in sight as Kageyama scowled at Hinata with far too much passion for a supposedly emotionless, aloof man. 

_The King_ , they’d called him, _the man who could run a one-man yakuza._

Aone’s arm pressed against Futakuchi’s chest before he could jump into action and the brown-haired man sighed derisively. 

“Kageyama Tobio?”

The angry man whirled around, competition fading from his eyes as they filled with something far scarier and cold. He bowed neatly, voice level and apathetic as he spoke. 

“Futakuchi-san. Aone-san. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Aw, no headlock for me?”

Aone snorted, otherwise not showing a reaction to Futakuchi’s prod. Hinata and Ukai shared a chuckle, the former holding his hands on his hips like the victor of some strange championship. 

Kageyama flushed deep red, looking down and not answering Futakuchi’s joking question. His eyebrows furrowed even tighter and Futakuchi hoped they wouldn’t get stuck that way. 

“Alright, don’t make him combust now,” Ukai saved Kageyama from further torment, tossing a set of keys at Futakuchi with a serious nod. 

“I’m putting you both in the room directly above theirs. You’ll have access to the video surveillance from their hallway and the hatch from your balcony to theirs.”

 _Oh._ Ukai Keishin hadn’t been joking when he said he knew Eight-Span Inn well. And, as Futakuchi began to realize as he looked around, though the security to the inn seemed laughable, there were enough secret cameras, fake doors, and tripwires (he caught one by the emergency exit) to turn the inn into an escape room. 

“Are there cameras in their room?”

Hinata and Kageyama’s face went blank and Futakuchi mused the possibilities. What embarrassing thing had the two of them gotten up to? Futakuchi could number a few, and it seemed like Aone’s thoughts weren’t far behind. The man’s stare settled on Kageyama with a venom he usually reserved for known enemies. 

“Of course not,” Ukai scowled in disgust, “This inn had standards. No cameras in rooms— it’s a privacy policy.”

“How will we know if something happened?” 

“Panic button.”

“One in the bathroom,” Hinata chimed in helpfully, “one in the kitchen, and one in the bedroom.”

 _Ah, good._ Futakuchi smiled, twirling the keys around his finger. He was pleased. Eight-Span was an irrefutable dustbin with no glitz or glamour to it, but it would do very nicely for their purpose. Aone shared his thoughts, gaze softening as he directed something akin to gratitude towards Ukai.

“We also have an in-house chef.”

A new voice entered the conversation and all five heads in the room froze and swiveled to the main entrance. A short, bespectacled man beamed at them from over two bags of groceries. 

_Takeda Ittetsu._ How much had the man heard? 

“Ittetsu, you scared the crap out of me,” Ukai drawled, a hand pressed to his chest, “You need to stop avoiding my motion cameras.”

“It’s no fun when you can tell I’m coming, Keishin,” Takeda laughed, readjusting the bags in his arms with a cheery grin. 

_He could avoid the motion-activated cameras?_ Futakuchi blinked slowly, his action mirrored everyone around him save the smirking Ukai and confused Hinata. _Wait,_ there had been hidden cameras?

“Why don’t you boys clean up?” Takeda suggested as if he hadn’t just defied security measures professionals could only dream of, “I’ll cook up some curry.”

“ _Aw, yay!”_ Hinata jumped, fist-pumping the air. Kageyama nodded quietly to himself, hooking a finger around Hinata’s collar and dragging him up the stairs without further thought.

Futakuchi watched them go.

“They seem to be managing on their own pretty well.”

Aone grunted in agreement. 

###  **»»————- ♡ -————««**

TERUSHIMA WAS HAVING FUN. He wasn’t unused to being contacted as a neutral party— the small, independent Johzenji _yakuza_ was infamous for its disorder and misconduct: however, it was equally famous for its efficacy and ruthlessness when executing orders. Johzenji learned quickly and adapted even faster and that made them impossible to wipe out or take over. The closest anyone had ever gotten was when the _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai offered Terushima a date in return for a few plots of land essential to protecting Yamaguchi-kai’s border. Terushima had almost agreed, changing his mind at the last minute to settle for another deal: a date in return for an _alliance_. It would benefit both of them and was impossible to deny. Besides, Terushima still got his date out of it.

And so— 

“Freckles-kun, we meet again.”

“Hello, Terushima-san.”

“Back to formalities, are we Tadashi?”

Yamaguchi smiled, cute and doe-eyed. Terushima knew better than to fall for the supposedly-timid character Yamaguchi presented, and he just offered his own knowing smile in return. 

“Sorry, Terushima-san.”

 _Sorry? No, he’s not._ Terushima laughed loud and raucous, pulling Yamaguchi into an unforeseen hug. They were standing outside the Tokyo train station, a car waiting for them around the corner to take them to the designated safe house. It was a Kuroo-gumi vehicle, the driver unknown to Terushima and large enough to scare away any questions he had. _No,_ not scare— Terushima didn’t get _scared_. The driver, Hyakuzawa Yudai, was simply big enough to not intrigue him. Yamaguchi’s presence (concealed as it was) was a welcome distraction from any other of Terushima’s curiosities, and he settled for grilling his green-haired interest on the ride to the rendezvous point. 

“Your hair is long,” _You grew it out._

Terushima grasped a lock of it between his fingers, tracing upwards until he reached Yamaguchi’s cowlick, “It looks nice.”

“Thank you, Terushima-san.”

Terushima chuckled, not put-off by Yamaguchi’s stoney answers. Yamaguchi was sarcastic, stubborn, _weird_ , and strong— this facade of his couldn’t conceal everything. Terushima saw the familiar glare of annoyance in Yamaguchi’s steely eyes and leaned closer with a smile. 

“So,” Terushima caught Hyakuzawa’s curious gaze in the rearview mirror and winked, laughing when the giant flushed and turned away, focusing on the road ahead. 

“ _Sato Tadashi_ ,” He used the name Yamaguchi had used for their _introduction_ at the train station.

“Is this your first time in Tokyo?”

Since Johzenji was a covert ally of Yamaguchi-kai, Terushima, as the technical _kumicho_ of Johzenji, had been blessed with the knowledge of the _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai’s real identity: Yamaguchi Tadashi. It wasn’t difficult to figure it out— the surname was a dead give away, but the name itself had been so carefully hidden and wiped from documentation Yamaguchi’s existence seemed more fantastical than real. 

“Yes, it is.” 

Yamaguchi smiled shyly, avoiding eye contact. To another, it would seem like Yamaguchi was anxiety-ridden, nervous too, judging by the way he wrung his hands and bit at the skin by his nails. However, Terushima had been privy to all Yamaguchi’s tells, and, despite being underestimated as he usually was (something the two men had in common), had constructed an in-depth character profile of the man who he found such deep interest in. Terushima, though he didn’t seem like it with his piercings, crude language, and cheap clothes, was actually _very_ smart, and people-studying was something he loved doing.

Yamaguchi-studying was something he loved even more. 

_Biting the skin?_ Not anxiety, but _anticipation_. 

“We’re here,” Hyakuzawa’s deep voice interrupted Terushima’s analysis and the blond frowned, opening the door before the driver could get to it. 

“Come on, Freckles-kun. Let’s meet the man in charge of you.”

 _In charge of you._ Terushima had selected his words specifically, waiting for a reaction from Yamaguchi. 

Sure enough, Terushima caught a brief glare from the freckled man, only for the animosity to disappear moments later, replaced by a gentle demeanor and blushing smile. Hyakuzawa offered Yamaguchi a hand, helping pull a small duffel bag out of the car with a curious look. _Curious._ Hyakuzawa was still too nervous to amount to anything, but he had potential. 

Terushima could smell it.

He could also smell a particular breed of jerk, one whom he enjoyed annoying. 

“Sato-kun, I don’t have all day.”

“Sorry, Terushima-san,” Came Yamaguchi’s automatic response, “Thank you for driving us, Hyakuzawa-san.”

The two men exchanged a bow as Terushima stood waiting, impatiently tapping one foot. When Hyakuzawa was safely back in his car, engine on, Yamaguchi stuck his tongue out childishly, rushing past Terushima with tall, angry steps.

“I’ve missed you, Tadashi,” Terushima laughed, slinging an arm around Yamaguchi’s shoulders with a cheesy smile. 

Yamaguchi’s stepped slowed a little, lips pursing as he fought a smile. 

“Terushima-san, please unhand Sato-san.”

 _There he is._ Terushima let his hand slide from Yamaguchi’s shoulders slowly, a sleazy smile spreading onto his face.

“Kei, always a pleasure to see your scowling face.”

“Sato Tadashi, my name is Tsukishima Kei,” Tsukishima continued as if he hadn’t heard Terushima, “I am an advisor in Kuroo-gumi, and I am in charge of your safety and wellbeing during your stay in Tokyo.”

“Nice to meet you, Tsukishima-san. Please take care of me.”

“What’s this? You’re making it sound like he’s on vacation.”

“You will,” Tsukishima employed his deafness once more, eyes trained carefully on Yamaguchi’s faux-timid form, “Have access to any accommodations you need, as well as a trained guard twenty-four-seven.” 

“Thank you, Tsukishima-san.”

 _Silence._ Terushima chuckled, abruptly overthrowing the pregnant pause after Yamaguchi’s _gushing expression of gratitude._ Tsukishima, still scowling, finally turned to address him, one hand sliding up to adjust the slim tie at his throat. 

“Did you say something, Terushima?”

“I’ve been saying several things,” Terushima sighed, “but that’s beside the point. Where will you be keeping Sato-kun?” ‘ _Keeping’—like an animal._

“You don’t need to know.”

“I’d like to know, Kei.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Tsukishima tcched, clicking his tongue harshly. Terushima blinked in expectancy, smirking when Yamaguchi looked over at him, eyes squinted in annoyance. He knew exactly what Terushima was doing— no surprises there. Yamaguchi had always been quick to understand Terushima, and it was no different now. Terushima was trying to rile up Tsukishima. He was trying to expose his weaknesses, vices, and flaws, all out in the open so Yamaguchi could understand them and act accordingly.

 _I don’t need your help,_ Yamaguchi’s eyes read, stern and cold.

_But thank you anyway._

Terushima coughed, eyes still trained on Tsukishima as they had been the whole time. Tsukishima, oblivious to the silent conversation ensuing between his ward and Terushima, was looking down at his phone. Slim fingers typed quickly, Tsukishima’s glasses doing very little to hide his brows, which were knotted in frustration. 

Whoever Tsukishima had been texting, Terushima assumed it was _kumicho_ Kuroo Tetsurou, seemed to have won the debate.

“Sato,” Tsukishima sighed, all his fight gone and pushing out of him like a deflating balloon, “Will be hosted at my residence.”

“Huh, didn’t take long to crack you. Why your residence?”

“Shut up. I don’t care if you know, Terushima,” Tsukishima scowled, once again relaxing the tension in his body before smiling politely. 

“You’re not of any significance in the grand scheme of things.”

A sly remark and suddenly Terushima’s smile felt a little stiff. 

“Sato will be at my residence because it's more efficient to place the guards that way. Also, the Tokyo police have a strong hold of their jurisdiction in my area, so the security would be doubled.”

 _Or, the security could be nullified._ Terushima didn’t bother arguing further, leaving the decision to Yamaguchi, and however he saw fit to manipulate the situation.

“It was good talking to you, Terushima,” Tsukishima smiled, eyes flashing with indignance, but his body poised to drop the emotion because it would be far too much work to bother himself with Terushima. 

“Enjoy finding your way back to Johzenji. Your work here is done.”

 _Scary_ , Terushima laughed. He looked over at Yamaguchi for affirmation, his smile freezing when he noted the strange look swirling in Yamaguchi’s eyes. It wasn’t awe, nor anger either. Something not-quite like frustration, but not far off from affection. _Strange,_ Terushima mused, looking back and forth between the false identity of Sato Tadashi and the unamused Tsukishima Kei.

_This should be fun._

“Come on, Sato,” Tsukishima clicked his tongue once more like he was beckoning a dog. He pocketed his phone smoothly, striding over to his car. A man was stationed outside it: another driver. He seemed less nervous than Hyakuzawa, older too, with a more brash demeanor. His hands were at his hips, eyes focused on Tsukishima’s approaching form and mouth curled up into a smirk.

“Got your man, Lil’ Shima?”

“Please just drive us in silence, Akaizawa-san.”

“Sure, sure,” Akaizawa flapped his hand dismissively, not bothering to open the door for Tsukishima and slipping inside the car to start the engine. 

“Ah, _jeez._ He’s such a brat.”

Terushima idled for a little bit, eyebrows rising when he saw Yamaguchi step past Tsukishima to swing the door open for him. Yamaguchi had matured since he’d last seen him, those cold, gray eyes far more adept at calculating people than he’d seen before. _Amazing,_ Terushima grinned, propping a leg up on a bench so he could wave goodbye to both Tsukishima and Yamag— _no, Sato._

Tsukishima was a stickler for hierarchy and respect, and _Sato Tadashi_ would give him just that. Terushima daydreamed, half-wandering as he kicked a stray rock on his way to the closest restaurant that sold wiener pan. How many days would Tsukishima have until he succumbed to the hidden _kumicho_ of Yamaguchi-kai and his subtle forces?

_Not many._

______________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this update! There was nothing super major happening in this chapter, but we get to finally start up the main plot now. I will be making a lot of references to past relationships (they are not tagged), but the only active relationships will be those that are tagged. The past relationships are mentioned to add a little depth to the romantic/relationship aspect of this fic. Also, forgive me for adding every single character I could remember into this fic (I got a bit carried away...)
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments :) I'm so happy people are enjoying this story, and I'll do my best to complete it in a way that does the story justice. Have a wonderful day <3


	5. duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima and Tendou meet and find a strange connection between the members targeted by the kill-list. Kuroo needs to take a breather and Kenma helps him get back on track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER* I understand that Haikyuu takes place in Japan and, in accordance with the culture and the vibe I wish to present, I will be referring to the crime groups mentioned as being yakuza. However, I would like to define the yakuza groups of this story as being largely fictional, and mostly inaccurate as compared to the real yakuza of Japan. This is not meant to be a mockery. I have done research on yakuza (as much as my little brain would allow) and try to regularly incorporate the appropriate words and ceremonies. Feel free to correct me if you know better, but understand that this is a loose, fictional representation. Thank you and enjoy reading!
> 
> Additionally, the earthquake that left many of these characters orphans has based on an actual earthquake that occurred in Miyagi in 2011. It remains one of the worst earthquakes of the generation, and I mean no disrespect when I mention it in the context of this story. Consider the characters and events as fictional, though bearing resemblance to actual events in reality.

###  **chapter five - duty**

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI HAD MADE SEVERAL CALLS IN THE PAST TWO WEEKS. Frankly, if he’d been of a weaker type of man, his finger would have been worn to the bone and his throat ripped to shreds from overwork. Ushijima was, however, not a weak man, and so his body was in perfect health. All fingers were intact, and his throat was perfectly poised to speak when need be. The same could not be said for his secretary, Shirabu Kenjiro, but the hardworking man had taken a much-needed break to recuperate after the stress of the mess caused by the kill-list circulating _yakuza_ nation-wide. Ushijima did not take a break. 

He didn’t think he needed one. 

“ _Shateigashira_ , a representative from Yamaguchi-kai is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Ohira.”

Ohira Reon had stepped in to temporarily fill in Shirabu’s position— the well-built man normally acting as one of Kuroo-gumi’s lead business managers in Shiratorizawa. Ohira had helped monitor many of the smaller gangs' ‘fronts’, stores, and other small businesses that managed crime money, and the job was a tricky one. He had to maintain a far enough distance to not entangle Kuroo-gumi in the pettier problems of smaller gangs, but remain close enough to note how much economy was being transacted in the underworld. It was important to remain inculpable in this business. 

“I’ll see him in. Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

Ohira, being a calm man himself, was also exceptionally useful when Ushijima needed to communicate with Shiratorizawa’s local police department. The Shiratorizawa police, much to _kumicho_ Kuroo’s delight, were under complete control of Ushijima (and by extension Kuroo-gumi). Not an ounce of paperwork left the precinct without having been thoroughly vetted for valuable information by their mole— Semi Eita. 

Usually, when Shirabu took off (a rare occasion), Semi would cover the role of Ushijima’s assistant. However, with all _yakuza_ on high alert because of the kill-list, Semi couldn’t afford to miss any intel passed through the Shiratorizawa precinct. The only other option had been Ohira, who could afford to be at their headquarters since he operated remotely for the majority of the time.

Ushijima paused in his reading of articles, blinking rapidly and then slowly as the words blurred together. Kuroo-gumi and Yamaguchi-kai had agreed on a brief alliance of sorts while the kill-list (and the people who’d created it) was still an active threat. Part of this alliance detailed regularly scheduled meetings, at alternating locations, to discuss any possible intel updates. Having reviewed all available information for the better half of the morning, Ushijima was beginning to get antsy to start the discussions.

He hoped Yamaguchi-kai would send Oikawa Tooru— the man, vain as he was, would be a valuable asset when analyzing information. He wished Oikawa had been recruited by Kuroo-gumi: then, he would have inevitably been assigned to Shiratorizawa. Ushijima would have greatly preferred that. 

There was a light, polite knock at his door and Ushijima realized that Oikawa Tooru would not be attending the meeting today. The man would never be so respectful as to not beat Ushijima’s office door in. 

“Come in.”

The door eased open slowly, the person on the other side practically melting past the door frame. His spindly limbs whirred and clicked with constant motion in jarring contrast to his torso, which moved like it swayed with the particles in the room. The man had unnaturally vibrant red hair, the tendrils coiffed into a high peak which made him look even taller than he was (which was already tall). 

“Ushijima Wakatoshi-san,” The man bowed, lips curved up like he was laughing at some joke too quiet for Ushijima to hear. 

“Thank you for hosting me today.”

Ushijima nodded stiffly, a chill creeping down his neck. The man in front of him piqued his interest, his eyes drawn to the sinewy muscle visible on the man’s forearms and legs, but simultaneously put him off from wanting to prod further. Ushijima liked it when things were obvious and easy to deduce— things he couldn’t understand made him frustrated. This man had been in his room for less than a minute, yet he already felt his neck flushing and blood pressure skyrocketing from the annoyance of the man just _existing_. 

Though the man made Ushijima feel like he was walking on stilts, he hadn’t actually _done_ anything for Ushijima to turn him away, and so the stoic _shateigashira_ simply gestured to a chair. He watched, studiously, as the redhead smiled once more (not that the expression had ever left his face) and draped himself upon the leather of the chair. Limbs piled on limbs, leg wound over the other and his thin fingers dangled from the armrest. 

“Tendou Satori,” He finally introduced himself, holding a hand out.

“ _Wakagashira-hosa_ from Yamaguchi-kai.”

Ushijima tried to not let his surprise show at the man’s higher rank, shaking the slim hand offered to him firmly. Both men cast their gazes downwards, examining the stark contrast between their hands with interest. Ushijima’s palm was thick and wide, fingers blunt and shorter. Tendou’s calluses seemed to collect on his fingers, as opposed to Ushijima’s collecting on his palm, and his fingers stretched and tapered in long, broken lines. 

Ushijima counted at least three poorly-healed fractures in Tendou’s left hand. _Left hand?_ People normally shook with their right hand: why had Tendou extended his left?

“You’re a lefty, Wakatoshi-san?”

The use of his first name was overshadowed by Tendou’s accurate statement, the question less intrigued in tone and more confirmatory. _How did he know?_

“Yes.”

Ushijima looked up, drawing his hand back and narrowing his eyes at the strange figure in front of him. Tendou's eyes crinkled at the corners, head tilting to the side as he laughed, embarrassed. Tendou had a pleasant laugh— honest and so joyful it struck something deep inside Ushijima that bubbled up from where it had been repressed. 

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

Another question that sounded like a statement— and another accuracy that jarred Ushijima more than it was supposed to. _No_ , Tendou didn’t make Ushijima _uncomfortable_ , but the emotion Ushijima felt was foreign and he couldn’t place it with finality and _that_ made him uncomfortable. The struggle to label his feelings bothered Ushijima more than the redhead's ventures. 

“No,” Ushijima settled back into his chair, trying to relax into it as Tendou had done effortlessly. 

“I am not uncomfortable.”

“Good,” Tendou smiled, fingers tapping out a quiet rhythm on the armrest of his chair. Normally, Ushijima found gestures like that to be rude— they indicated impatience and immaturity. However, Ushijima didn’t mind it when Tendou did it, the action reflecting nothing but the steady thrum of Ushijima’s own pulse (he could feel it, vividly). 

“How did you know I was a lefty?” Ushijima’s need to make the unknown _known_ surfaced suddenly and rapidly as if Tendou’s fingers had dipped into a river and stirred up sediment at the bottom. 

“Pen smudges on your cuff, Wakatoshi-san,” Tendou pointed the marks out, the stains tiny and almost imperceptible (except, not to Tendou). 

“I just made a lucky guess based on that.”

Ushijima stared curiously at the marks on his cuff, fingers rubbing the material like he could magnify the give-away. The pen didn’t budge, ink smeared on his sleeves staring back at his with an eerie permanence. Ushijima didn’t like imperfections, but few could fascinate him beyond the point of annoyance and settle into a hazy admiration. _Appreciation, almost._

“You guessed?”

Ushijima kept his voice level (not that he had the ability to change his inflection a lot). Tendou kept his smile on his face, gazing at Ushijima in a way he hadn’t been looked at since he was a kid. If Ushijima didn’t know any better, he would have labeled Tendou’s crinkled eyes as _adoring_ , but the men had just met so Ushijima assumed Tendou always looked like that. It wasn’t unpleasant, Ushijima quietly admitted to himself, to be looked at like that.

Many of his men, Shirabu Kenjiro being an apt example, looked at Ushijima with awe. They placed him high up on a pedestal and distanced themselves one would with something _superior._ Tendou’s smile betrayed none of that— instead looking at Ushijima in a way that made him feel dainty and fragile.

It was overwhelming, but Ushijima couldn’t decide if he hated it or needed it.

_Maybe both._

“I had a hunch,” Tendou nodded in agreement, neck sloping gracefully, “My hunches are usually right.”

“That is impressive, Tendou-san.”

“Thank you, Wakatoshi-san. Is it okay if I call you that?”

Ushijima had almost forgotten what his first name sounded like and he nodded, half-dazed and half-focused intently on the figure before him. 

“You may call me Satori if you wish.”

“Satori-san,” Ushijima tested it out, turning to the files on his desk and fiddling with the stack. There were a lot of documents they needed to go through and this introduction was longer than Ushijima would’ve thought it to be. Strangely, he didn’t mind. 

“So polite,” Tendou smiled, all squinty, and Ushijima felt something warm balloon in the pit of his stomach. 

“Let’s start with a copy of the kill-list.” 

Sometimes, Ushijima knew he was too blunt. It wasn’t purposeful (well, maybe), but his mind just jumped from topic to topic too quickly to keep up with sometimes. It wasn’t that he bored of conversations, but that he needed to stick to the schedule he planned for himself in his head. It had made him a few enemies— like Oikawa Tooru— and seldom made him any friends. If anything, it seemed to distance himself from people under his supervision. Only Ohira Reon, it seemed, had seen past his fragmented-yet-organized thought process.

And possibly Tendou Satori now as well. 

“Straight to the point?”

Ushijima locked eyes with Tendou, waiting for the teasing remark he assumed the redhead would dole out. People used Ushijima’s single-minded focus to poke fun at his seriousness, but Ushijima wasn’t deaf to their taunts— he just had other things to focus on. 

“Lovely,” Tendou smiled, leaning forward to examine the file in Ushijima’s hand with interest. 

“I prefer to get straight to business as well.”

Ushijima nodded, unsure what to say in the event of someone naturally understanding him as flawlessly as Tendou had. _Maybe it’s a trick?_ If it was, Tendou was a master of illusion. 

Wordlessly, Ushijima slid the photocopy he’d received of the kill-list across his desk, which was bare aside from a dusty photo and the piles of files Ushijima had organized as he’d seen fit. Most people wouldn’t understand the organization, but Ushijima supposed that would be alright since it would prevent theft. 

“Here’s what I gathered from the photocopy,” Tendou spoke as if he was talking to a child and recounting a story. It should’ve been patronizing, but Ushijima found that Tendou’s tone was something he could actually listen to and follow along with, without getting sidetracked or frustrated. Monotony or quick-paced talking usually threw him off, just a little (since Ushijima was a professional and could handle anything), so he found Tendou’s pace pleasing— almost perfect. 

“All the people on this list have ties to the Miyagi prefecture,” Tendou’s pointer finger traced down the list as he confirmed the names quietly. Ushijima followed the fingers' shadow, the unnaturally long digit casting a shadow much like a witch’s wand.

Ushijima had noticed the connection to Miyagi, his thought affirmed by Tendou’s confirmation. Though Hinata Shoyo wasn’t located in Miyagi, he had been born there and moved to Tokyo via a foster program when his parents had died. His story had been sad, but Ushijima didn’t have soft spots and judged Hinata solely on his capability to grow from the event. Hinata was, quite obviously, restricted in the _growth_ aspect (Ushijima was convinced Hinata’s assignment as _wakagashira-hosa_ was a farce) and Ushijima had passed his judgment without regret. 

“Are any of them from Shiratorizawa, Wakatoshi-san?”

Ushijima shook his head no. Tendou nodded, not in the least bothered by Ushijima’s lack of vocalization. 

“Okay so, from Kuroo-gumi, only Hinata Shoyo is on this list?”

Ushijima nodded, choosing to expand a little on Hinata Shoyo’s character profile. It was possible Tendou would be able to make a hunch based on the information and, though Hinata annoyed Ushijima constantly with his noise and impossible rank, it would help to find the people hunting Hinata down.

“He is short,” Ushijima began, changing course when he realized physical characteristics wouldn’t be too helpful, “and very loud. He thinks he could run a _yakuza_ of his own, though he has very little experience and is not worthy.”

“Is he stubborn?” Tendou guessed, recalling the time he’d glimpsed Hinata Shoyo when the hyperactive, fellow- _wakagashira_ had sought audience with Sugawara Koushi. 

“Yes,” Ushijima scowled ever so slightly, the expression melting off his face when Tendou chuckled lowly. 

“I suppose that’s something he and our Kageyama-kun have in common.”

“But there are lots of stubborn _yakuza_ members in Japan,” Ushijima spoke candidly, “It makes no sense to target Kageyama and Hinata specifically.”

“And what of ‘Tadashi’?” Ushijima questioned Tendou directly, “He’s from Yamaguchi-kai as well, correct?”

“You are correct, Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou nodded, seriously, “And Sato-san is a very private man. He stays out of trouble, unlike Hinata-kun and Kageyama-kun.”

“He is not stubborn?”

“I never said that,” Tendou grinned, eyelids lowering sleepily. Ushijima felt his neck break out into goosebumps and he leaned forwards, subconsciously trying to get closer to the man who intrigued him as such. 

“I think we can assume the more important connection to be made here is that they all have connections to Miyagi,” Tendou brought Ushijima’s mind back on track, his long fingers dancing across the photocopy.

“They’ve all been affected by the Miyagi Earthquake, ten years ago,” Ushijima spoke aloud, reeling backward when Tendou grasped his hand suddenly, and tightly. 

“Have they?” Tendou’s eyes were wide and Ushijima thought he could faintly make out the turning of gears past the reddish irises of the man. 

“Of course, many lives were impacted by it—Hinata’s and Kageyama’s included.”

“Though I can’t see how that could connect to the kill-list,” Ushijima admitted with a stoic frown, avoiding Tendou’s wide eyes. 

“Hinata Shoyo lost family,” Ushijima nodded, opening up the file he’d been reading before Tendou had entered. 

“Kageyama Tobio also seems to have lost family.”

Ushijima had asked Semi for all files the Miyagi police headquarters had on Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio— it had taken some puppetry but the files had been procured and the files detailed what both men had lost in the aftermath of the earthquake. Files on Sato Tadashi had also been requested after Yamaguchi-kai had confirmed his existence, but none of the police forces around Miyagi had any intel linking him to the Miyagi Earthquake in any way. In fact, the number of files available on Sato Tadashi was scarily small. Ushijima pegged it on Tendou’s characterization of the man as _‘private’_ and _‘withdrawn’_. 

“Sato-san has also lost family,” Tendou spoke quickly, the excitement of discovering a link exuding from him in vibrant waves. Ushijima soaked in it, the man’s quickness to emotion reminding him of a distant memory.

“I do not recall seeing reports on that,” Ushijima tried taking the file back from Tendou, but his hand met empty air as the other man moved away from him subtly. 

“A lot of paperwork was lost in the aftermath,” Tendou smiled apologetically, “Sato-san’s included.”

“Unfortunate,” Ushijima attempted empathy, breathing a sigh of relief when Tendou nodded. The man’s hair moved with him and a little glistened in the lamplight. Ushijima wondered if Tendou’s hands would similarly glisten, perhaps coated in a thin layer of whatever gel he’d used in his vibrant shock of hair to make it stand up like that. He didn’t seem to take particularly good care of his hands. 

Tendou tapped the desk in front of Ushijima, placing the file back within his grasp. He chuckled when Ushijima startled and blinked rapidly like he was seeing Tendou for the first time. 

Ushijima wasn’t a fan of overextending his emotions, nor did he attempt to do so regularly. His reluctance to discuss them with others’ had resulted in his subsequent idolization and ostracization. They both made him feel even more detached from society than he already was— he felt large, intrusive, and obtuse. And so, Ushijima immersed himself in his work to distract himself. It had been effective thus far. 

“I would have never thought of that, Wakatoshi-san: You’re a genius.”

“Thank you, Tendou-san.”

_Don’t change Wakatoshi. Your differences are your strengths._

Ushijima gazed at Tendou absentmindedly, eyes tracing the man’s ridiculously gelled hair and strange eyes. Tendou Satori was, undoubtedly, the most _different_ man he’d ever met. Ushijima looked forward to seeing how strong he was. 

### »»————- ♡ -————««

KUROO TETSUROU WAS A SENTIMENTAL MAN. _Emotional?_ No, Kuroo wouldn’t particularly choose that word to describe himself, but sentimental was acceptable. He kept few photos on his person, cautious of the possibility of his nostalgia being used to harm his friends, but his desk had one, framed and regularly dusted. The edges of the photo were beginning to curl and turn sepia, the frightfully cared for frame unable to prevent the effect of aging. Kuroo wished there was a way to do that— a way to prevent the pass of time and pause everything, even if only for a minute. 

“I’ve asked Shibayama-kun to reach out to our scout in Sendai,” Kuroo heard Yaku Morisuke speak as if the man was on the other side of a thin wall, the words muffled and muted. 

“There is a man named Ennoshita Chikara there. He covers most of Yamaguchi-kai’s _business ventures_ , and I hope to speak to him—”

“—Did you send him alone? That could be dangerous for him, Yaku,” Kuroo frowned, unable to picture the young rookie, Shibayama Yuki, actively seeking out a member of Yamaguchi-kai on foreign territory. 

Yamaguchi-kai didn’t have a main headquarters like Kuroo-gumi did, instead electing to switch where their _kumicho_ resided periodically. The only bases that remained unmoved were those in Aoba-Johsai and Sendai. Sendai’s base was obscured from any legal documentation, however, and thick bands of petty thieves, unaffiliated with Yamaguchi-kai, but helpful nonetheless, kept unwanted attention onto themselves and their small crimes. Sending Shibayama by himself to the city would be a suicide mission, no matter how capable the boy was. 

“We always work in pairs or groups. Yaku, how could you forget that?”

There was a pause of stony silence, the gentle ringing in Kuroo’s ear ceasing as he began to realize the way he’d snapped. When Kuroo had just taken over as _kumicho_ after his father’s death, Yaku had been the one to whip him into shape and support him, regardless of the numerous veteran members who saw Kuroo as unfit to run. Kuroo couldn’t blame them exactly— he’d spent the majority of his youth in school, preparing for a career that would permanently separate him from the _yakuza_ and his familial burden. Yaku, a classmate and son of another member, had hated him for it and largely pioneered the idea that Kuroo was inept.

Then, Kuroo’s father died, and things changed. He couldn’t distance himself from the _yakuza_ and so it consumed him. 

“If you had been listening, _Kuroo_ ,” Yaku seethed, his shoulders taut and eyes narrowed, “You would have heard me mention that Shibayama-kun will _not_ be going alone.”

Kuroo blinked, unable to apologize the way he should have. His tongue felt slow, eyes heavy, and all he wanted to do was take a _fucking break_. But his position didn’t warrant breaks.

His position didn’t warrant sympathy. 

“Then, speak quicker, Yaku,” Kuroo hissed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he slid his glasses off, “I don’t have time to listen to you ramble.”

“Then,” Yaku sighed deeply, standing up and gathering his files, “Call me when you have time.”

“Wha—”

“—I’ll brief Kenma and let him deal with you.”

Yaku slammed the door behind him, his face betraying his emotions as he glowered at Kuroo before he left. Many years had passed their days of bickering, but as of late, Kuroo could feel their relationship slowly descending into the spiteful, bitter one it had once been. He blamed himself. He was being rude and incompetent— bad on most days but terrible during a period of crisis.

“Fuck,” Kuroo let his head drop into his hands, reaching into his hair to grasp at the strands like he could ground himself through the sharp sting. 

“Kuro,” A soft voice roused him and Kuroo looked up, putting on a smile when Kenma stared at him quietly from the door. He had a buttoned shirt on, the whiteness almost hurting Kuroo’s eyes, but he didn’t look away. _Kenma must have come over straight from his actual job,_ Kuroo’s smile thinned when Kenma didn’t reciprocate, _Am I such a child that Kenma has to take care of me?_

“Did Yaku ask you to come here?”

“No,” Kenma replied, monotonous, “but I did run into him outside.”

“And what did he tell you?” Kuroo stared, his gaze never ceasing even as Kenma began to move towards him. He nodded imperceptibly when Kenma pointed at Kuroo’s jacket, draped over the side of a chair. Kenma pulled it on. He was always cold. Even when they were young, Kenma was always drowning in layers of thick sweatshirts and jackets— many of them Kuroo’s. 

“He told me,” Kenma murmured, briefly checking his phone before pocketing it. He walked close enough that Kuroo could feel a slight warmth radiating off his skin. Kuroo didn’t let himself melt, holding onto his petulance stubbornly. 

“He told me,” Kenma tried again, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Kuroo echoed, quietly.

“Nothing.”

“ _Kyanma_ , you liar.”

Kenma’s lips quirked up into a small smile, and Kuroo grinned, pulling the smaller man down into his lap. Kenma’s pants, wonderful as they looked on him, were restricting in how wide he could spread his legs, so Kuroo settled for the way Kenma perched on one of his thighs. He’d prefer to be straddled, but he’d take anything Kenma gave to him. He wondered if that made him weak— _pathetic_ , a familiar voice sounded in his head. 

“You know, normally it’s Lev who annoys Yaku that much,” Kenma leaned slightly against Kuroo’s chest, letting himself be cradled. Kuroo accepted the gesture thankfully, locking his arms around Kenma’s waist and lowering his chin to the top of his unofficial advisor’s hair.

“Don’t compare me to that man-child,” Kuroo grumbled, his smile growing as Kenma looked at him pointedly. There was something utterly captivating about Kenma— there always had been. He wasn’t _fragile_ the way Kuroo’s old girlfriends had been, nor was pessimistic the way Tsukishima was, nor was he (quite obviously) explosive the way Bokuto was. Kenma was uniquely, and truly _himself._ He was quiet and _fierce_ in a way that burned low and eternal. Kuroo had loved all his partners truthfully and wholly, but his love for Kenma surpassed the boundaries that governed most hearts. 

Kuroo, blessed as he saw himself, had been one of the few to witness Kenma’s more energetic moments— usually triggered by the stupidity of people he loved. The people Kenma loved was a more numerous count than most thought, and the risk of harm to any of the select few promised seldom-seen wrath from the bottle-blond Kuroo knew well to fear. Normally though, when Kenma was in his neutral, calm form, he was the epitome of observant— quiet and curious like a cat, Kuroo had joked. 

“Just make it through this one, Kuro,” Kenma’s hands wandered into Kuroo’s hair, combing upward and following the direction his natural bedhead followed. 

“I don’t know if I can,” Kuroo murmured, bending forward to tap a light kiss on Kenma’s forehead. The smaller man’s nose scrunched, hand flicking Kuroo’s forehead in a spot that mirrored where he’d received a kiss. Kenma had never been one for physical affection even in high school where he and Kuroo had first met. It had taken some time, but Kuroo had grown to respect Kenma’s personal space, and Kenma had learned how to accept Kuroo’s need for intimacy.

They balanced the way a ton of bricks and a ton of feathers did: theoretically and logically, but in a way that seemed illogical to most: especially Kuroo's past relationships. But all that was behind them now: their mutual confessions long overdue and habitually reinforced. 

“You can,” Kenma stated plainly, “And when this is all over, you and I will leave.”

“And never look back?” Kuroo joked, unhelpfully, shaking his head before Kenma could question it.

“Bokuto would be heartbroken.”

“There are others who would be too,” Kenma nodded, “but just because you’ll leave _this_ doesn’t mean you have to leave _them_.”

Kuroo sighed heavily, the weight of his plans bearing down on his shoulders. He’d never wanted to be _kumicho_ , making plans to enter college and study chemistry when he’d been young. Those plans had been permanently put on hold when his father had died, the bastard pinning Kuroo down with his final wish _for his son to take over Kuroo-gumi._ Kuroo had rarely seen his father, the familiar title more echoing his title as _oyabun_ , father to everyone in the clan, rather than Kuroo’s own parent. But Kuroo, pressured from all sides, had succumbed to the wish and shackled himself into a life he barely knew. 

And he’d dragged Kenma with him.

“You’re free to leave whenever you wish,” Kuroo reminded Kenma of his unique situation, “but this is _my_ burden to hold. I can’t pass it over to someone else— that would make me worse than my father.” 

“For you to think I won’t share the burden…” Kenma scowled heavily, the expressive emotion almost foreign on his normally passive face.

“... you’d surely be more ridiculous than your father.”

Kuroo felt like his heart would burst and leaned his head against Kenma, wishing desperately for a life where he could be free to adore, without a target plastered on the back of everyone he loved. Kenma didn’t push further, his fingers finding a lazy pattern, carding through Kuroo’s dark hair in a lulling motion. Kuroo held on a little tighter. 

“You’re my good luck charm, Kenma,” Kuroo buried his head in the crook of Kenma’s neck, breathing in the smell of warm paper, fresh from a printer, and apples that seemed to linger around Kenma. Anyone stuck in this building reeked of cigarette smoke instead, thick, and crude labels that would off-put more tar into the lungs than nicotine. Kuroo didn’t smoke, but he couldn’t imagine a life without the smell. _Addicted._

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 _Addicted._ They stayed in that position for a while, Kuroo smothering himself in the scent of the outside world and Kenma letting Kuroo’s warmth wash over him in overwhelming waves. 

“Penthouse apartment,” Kuroo mumbled into Kenma’s pulse, “Two bedrooms. One is a guest room for when Bokuto feels like invading our privacy.”

Kenma smiled, “Or Hinata. And a chalkboard for when you want to play teacher again.”

Kuroo laughed, straightening up and meeting Kenma’s doting gaze with his own. They hadn’t clicked in high school at first, both of them kind of quiet and interested in different things. Kuroo had tutored Kenma in chemistry and steered him towards a path of science and technology. _Not chemistry though, Kenma hated the subject pointedly._ Kuroo loved playing teacher. He loved helping people. 

He didn’t feel like he’d been doing a lot of that recently. 

“A giant freezer for all the apple pies we’re going to buy— ”

“— Because neither of us can cook,” Kenma nodded, hands slipping from Kuroo’s hair to cradle his jaw. 

“It has to be close to the beach,” Kuroo continued, lips fluttering over Kenma’s.

“And it has to have a thermostat,” Kenma moved back, eyes narrowed and very much serious.

Kuroo crossed his heart, his hand held solemnly at his side in promise of their future thermostat. They’d need a thermostat for their future house, or Kenma wouldn’t live there. It had been one of the first rules they’d dreamed up, laying close on Kuroo’s bed one humid summer. The plans had been platonic then, secretive glances betraying each other's true emotions but their hearts too stubborn to confess. 

“And a dog?”

“That decision is still pending.”

Kuroo stole a quick peck, chuckling weakly before letting Kenma slide off his lap. The blonde, having accomplished his goal of cheering Kuroo up, took a seat over where Yaku had been sitting earlier. Kenma didn’t sit in the chair like normal people did, pulling his feet up so he could squeeze the entire length of his body into the seat and push at the upholstery. 

“Yaku told me to tell you he was sending Shibayama to Sendai with Inuoka So,” Kenma slipped back into a formal tone, head tilted peculiarly as Kuroo struggled to focus. 

“Are they good together?”

“Yes.”

Kuroo nodded firmly, popping the joints in his knuckles before motioning for Kenma to continue. No matter how he wished otherwise, he was the standing _kumicho_ of Kuroo-gumi, and he’d have to act like it. 

_Just wait until this passes,_ Kenma’s voice filtered through Kuroo’s ear in memory, _Then we can leave this._

_Not them. This._

“He wants to meet with Ennoshita Chikara,” Kenma relayed, visibly relaxing as Kuroo began to regain his sensibility, “He’s in charge of their assets in Sendai.”

“Big man,” Kuroo hummed, “Think Yaku can handle him?”

“As long as we don’t send Lev,” Kenma shrugged, his annoyance at the mentioned man thinly veiled. 

“That’s never going to happen. I’m convinced Lev has a tracker on Yaku.”

Kenma just waited patiently as Kuroo’s eyes unfocused briefly, his mind whirring to find a resolution. It was unfortunate how vehemently Kuroo rejected his position— he made a damn good _kumicho_ when he tried. 

“You don’t want to send Yaku to Sendai?”

Kenma prodded a little to get the rust gears in Kuroo’s head to turn. 

“No,” Kuroo blinked and sighed, “I’m still worried that we haven’t heard back from our informant and I don’t want to risk losing anyone else who’s so openly related to us.”

“I’m sure Suguru Daisho is fine,” Kenma supplied, supportive as he knew he should be. 

Suguru Daisho had been the informant to send in the fuzzy pictures that detailed the circulated kill-list— after which he had promptly _disappeared_. It was almost as if he’d been wiped off the face of the earth. Kuroo, though he wasn’t particularly fond of the man, still felt a spike of apprehension at the absolute _silence_ that had filled their normally-regular communication. 

“Yeah, but still,” Kuroo mulled over his thoughts a little while longer. He snapped his fingers suddenly, pulling his cellphone from the drawer as Kenma watched, unoffended by the lack of communication. They’d never needed to tell each other _everything_ — they’d always just innately understood the other’s thought process. It was like second-nature at this point in their history together. 

Kuroo dialed in the number he’d memorized years ago, a private line Yaku used only for communicating with the _kumicho_. 

“Yaku,” Kuroo began apologetically, “I’m sorry for my immaturity today. It will not happen again.”

“It better not _kumicho_ ,” Yaku’s anger was still tangible over the phone and Kuroo stiffened slightly, frowning when Kenma blinked, amused. 

“It _won’t_.”

“Good,” A pleased hum, “So I can go to Sendai?”

“No,” Kuroo didn’t give Yaku the chance to voice his outrage, “I want you to check out the Tokyo markets and see what they’re saying.”

“I’ll bring Lev, he could use the experience, that slacker.”

“Sure, have fun.”

More silence and Kuroo brought his hand up to rub at his neck in discomfort. Kenma curled further into his seat, eyes closing sleepily as he napped, wrapped in the comfort of Kuroo’s jacket and his gaze. 

“Listen,” Yaku’s voice was softer like he was whispering into the receiver, “Just know that we all have your back, okay? No matter what you fuck up, we’re a family and we’ll cover for you.”

“Yaku— “

“— ‘We're like the blood in our veins. We must flow without stopping.’ We, uh—”

“— Keep the oxygen moving and your mind working,” Kuroo finished for him, the cliche of the moment making him all too happy. He had a weakness for manga moments, and Yaku was preying on it. _Bastard._

“Yeah, yeah, all that shit and stuff,” Yaku rushed, embarrassed, “Don’t forget it okay?”

“Thank you, Yakkun.”

“Don’t thank _me_ , I didn’t remember that stupid initiation ceremony of yours.”

The line cut and Kuroo pocketed his phone slowly, getting up to stretch. Kenma shifted in his chair a little, Kuroo’s jacket slipping off his shoulders ever so slightly. Tucking him in, Kuroo pressed a soft kiss to Kenma’s temple before sitting back at his desk to go through all the updates he’d received. The photo on his desk gleamed in the dim lighting, two boys pictured: one with his hair mussed and face shoved in a book, the other with a sleepy look and GameBoy in hand.

_Thank you, Kenma._

______________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the long gap between updates. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I've come to the realization that I've put way too many characters into this, but I can't stop myself. I don't want to over-tag, so I'll only be tagging "important" characters and ones that won't spoil anything. I apologize if it's a lot of information and you're confused-- I can make a little recap/explanatory chapter when I'm around halfway through the storyline. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This entire work was inspired by my need to have Tadashi portrayed as a bad bitch more often. This is, indeed, a repost of a work I published earlier this year. I will work on it intermittently, but I don't have much time to devote to it. I'm sorry for the terrible update schedule in advance. Have a lovely day!


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